


Beneath the Surface

by RumbleFish14



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Crime Scenes, Crimes & Criminals, Different Points of View, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Inside the mind of the the killer, M/M, Mental Instability, Murder, Past Child Abuse, Physical Abuse, Plot Twists, Secrets, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:35:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 77,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21725353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RumbleFish14/pseuds/RumbleFish14
Summary: Detective Mickey Milkovich and his partner Marlowe summers get called to a quiet house in the suburbs, where the occupants have been found dead.They seem like the perfect couple until Mickey and Marlowe dig into their lives, trying to bring them justice, only to realize that justice was served as a result of their death.22 year old Ian Gallagher can't be less concerned over their death, even when he was connected to both victims
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 136
Kudos: 179





	1. Bloody

**Author's Note:**

> New WIP.
> 
> Tag says murder but calm the fuck down cuz the boys don't die...no death for either of them

Beneath the Surface  
Chapter 1- Bloody

"Jesus Christ," Mickey exclaimed, eyes a little too wide as he tried to process what he was seeing.

"Yeah, it's pretty gruesome." Marlowe said back, wiping the sweat off her forehead with her shoulder as her hands were gloved. "Brutal."

She was not wrong. Mickey tried to take in as much of the crime scene as his sleep sloshed brain would allow. He'd barely been at home in bed for two hours before his captain called about their latest murder scene.

Not that home was much better than a crime scene. At least there were people around, unlike his empty two bedroom townhouse just three blocks short of being back in the Southside. His apartment was more of necessity then actual want. 

Decked out with only the shit he needed to live. Four dead bolts on the door, a couch in front of a big screen t.v. mounted on the wall, a bed big enough to sleep four people and a coffee maker. 

Of course there were more items in his place, but really, he really only used the ones he listed. He either worked, or he slept. No time for anything else. 

Mickey Milkovich was a homicide detective in Chicago, along with his partner Marlowe Summers. She was fresh from Los Angeles and his captain paired her with him for a trial run. So far she was doing pretty damn well. 

Unlike most of the other women that worked closely to him, she had a strong stomach. Didn't get a case of the queasies when dealin with blood or any other bodily fluids. She was rather quiet, but it was more to observe then it was being shy. She was witty, strong, a damn good shot. 

Not bad for a new partner and Mickey wasn't going to question it until he had to. 

"I don't even know where to stand." Mickey looked down at his plastic covered shoes that were already splattered with blood. "It's everywhere."

Their current crime scene was a fucking disaster. Smack dab in the suburbs, one of those cookie cutter houses where each one looks the same. Manicured lawn, immaculate paint, pricey cars in the garage.

It looked very normal until you stepped inside. The rather normal, everyday items you'd find in a house like that were caked or splattered with blood. You couldn't walk without stepping on it or in it. It soaked into the carpet, on the hardwood floor, smeared up the walls. 

It was messy. 

Marlowe nodded and sidestepped a rather large puddle by her feet. "It's contained in this room, so the rest of the house is clear, but in here there is no safe space to step."

They were currently in the living room. Surrounded by pricey furniture with those annoying plastic covers on them, a bunch of photos framed on the cream colored walls and the two bodies as the centerpiece. 

"Okay," Mickey pulled the gloves on Marlowe gave him as he looked around. "So, lay it out for me, yeah?"

Marlowe nodded. "The call came in this morning, about two hours ago. The front door was left open and a delivery driver dropped off a package and saw them."

"We talk to the driver?" Mickey asked, staying as still as possible. 

"The boys are doin it now. I glanced at his schedule and he was where he was supposed to be. He did have a package to deliver here so I'm sure he'll come back clean."

"The victims the owners of the house?" Mickey asked, eyes looking over the photos on the walls. 

Some showed a smiling couple in various stages of their lives. Different places and occasions. Some older, some younger. After awhile, a third person was added. A kid, with red hair and an effortless smile. 

"Yes," Marlowe flipped through her small notebook. "Mister and Missus Jim Moore, wife's name is Sarah. Lived here for the last twenty-five years or so."

"Kids?" Mickey asked as he turned his attention to the bodies. 

"Not sure yet. No kid rooms or anything but as you can see from the photos show a kid at some point."

Mickey bent down as much as he was able to, to get a closer look at the bodies. It was bad. Like too much blood and no faces bad. 

The bodies were a few feet apart, looking like they got interrupted in the middle of coffee. Two broken cups lay close to them, empty. 

"I know we haven't let the coroner in yet, but what do you think was used as the weapon?" Mickey asked, looking around for what might have caused the damage. "This looks too damn bloody to be just fists."

Marlowe nodded. "No weapon found, yet. But they're on the lookout for it." She backed away, leaning against a clean part of the couch. "Whoever did this knew them."

Mickey arched an eyebrow and stood, slowly backing away. "No signs of forced entry?"

"None. No scuff marks, no broken windows. The alarm wasn't triggered so either he either knew the code or it wasn't set."

"Not only that, but this much damage, has to be personal." Mickey felt his stomach churn, making him regret that second cup of coffee. "But they look to be in their early 50's maybe, so I doubt they had a lot of enemies. Should be easy to find out who was closest to them."

Murders this messy, this gruesome, seemed to always be linked to a loved one. A family member, a friend, work buddy. Anyone who had personal contact, someone who knew their everyday schedules and routines. 

"So, they had a decent alarm system, ADT I believe." Mickey nodded to the open curtain and pointed to the sign in the yard. "They might have had one of those security cameras, could be worth a try."

Marlowe smiled. "Damn good idea, Mick. You can't even walk down the street without fifteen different cameras on you at all times. I'll call the alarm company for the details when we get back."

Mickey grinned. Marlowe wasn't the only smart one. Occasionally he had some ideas worth their trouble too. 

"Anything else I need to see before we send the coroner in here?" 

Marlowe nodded. "Look up."

Mickey looked up to the ceiling just in time for a drop of blood to fall on his face, just under his eyelid. As much as he wanted to wipe it off, he couldn't yet. 

"What the fuck?" Mickey said quietly. 

The word LIAR, was written in big block letters just above the position of the bodies. 

Marlowe quickly handed him a napkin to wipe his face. "Yeah, and that's blood by the way, not red paint."

Mickey wiped his face with a grimace, then handed the napkin off to a crime scene tech that passed by. "Liar, huh?" He looked down at the bodies. "As in only one or both?"

"One, I assume or it would be Liars." 

"So, the question is, which one?" 

"Knock, knock! Any chance I can squeeze in there!"

Mickey glanced to the door, seeing their geeky coroner standing there with his assistant behind him. "Come on in Jerry, but watch where you step."

After their time with the bodies, the house became alive with activity. Crime scene techs going over every inch of the two story house. Gathering any evidence that could help them. More were outside, doing the exact same thing. 

"Detective?"

Mickey glanced behind him to see one of the crime scene guys trying for his attention. He moved towards him, treading lightly. "Hey, what's up?"

"Got something you should see."

At that, Mickey arched his eyebrows, a bad feeling creeping up his spine and followed him towards the kitchen. It looked rather normal, clean and homey, like a grandparents house. 

"Okay, so what am I looking for?" Mickey asked, not seeing anything out of the ordinary.

"Take a look at the cabinets."

Mickey walked closer, tired eyes focusing on the cabinets. It took him a second to realize that some of them had tiny locks on them. So small that even his keen eyes missed it. 

"The fuck." Mickey touched one, tugging a little to see that it really was locked. "Why the fuck would their cabinets be locked?"

The tech shook his head. "Not all of them are, but most. And those aren't just child safety locks or it would be just the bottoms."

Mickey nodded, releasing the lock to look at more, oddly placed around the entire kitchen. Some on bottom, some up top. There was even one on the fridge and freezer. 

"Yeah, not for child safety." Mickey shook his head. "Any chance you can break the ones that have locks? Just to see what they are keeping locked away?"

The tech nodded. "Yeah, as soon as I get the go ahead."

"Let me know then, yeah? I'll be walkin the house."

"Sure thing."

Mickey clapped the helpful tech on the shoulder, for once not annoyed by their presence. He moved out of the kitchen, in search of his partner and found her outside, scanning the windows.

"You see this?" Marlowe pointed.

Mickey squinted against the bright sun. More locks. Hardcore ones that probably locked from the inside. "Jesus. That's not part of the home alarm shit, that's custom and expensive."

"Overly precautious?"

Mickey shook his head, that bad feeling churning in his gut again. "I don't think so. There are locks in the kitchen. On some of the cabinets and the refrigerator."

Marlowe's eyes widened. "So no, not for security. Keeping someone out? Or in?" 

"But who? As far as we know, they lived alone. No signs of that kid." Mickey questioned as they walked all the way around the house, all the windows had locks. 

"I got a bad feeling, Mickey." Marlowe lowered her voice. "I've seen stuff like this before. Locked cabinets, refrigerators, windows and doors with high alarm systems."

Mickey narrowed his eyes. "You mean when you were in sex crimes?"

Marlowe nodded sadly. "More like special victims, but yeah. I've seen them before during Stockholm Syndrome cases, lock up the food so the people in charge get to manage and be in control."

Unease washed over him so fast he became dizzy and had to lean against the house. 

"But I've seen it in domestic situations too, normally ones with children involved. The parents keep the food locked up too, they usually give them the minimum amount of food to survive and that's it."

"Fuck, I seriously hope we aren't dealing with that shit." Mickey saw her nod as well, probably feeling just as uneasy as he was. Maybe more so. "We have to check into it. I got a tech bustin locks just to check, maybe it's not food they lock away."

Marlowe gave a sad smile as she walked away. "Yeah it is, Mickey." 

**

"Early this morning, we received word that a two story house in quiet suburbia, was host to a brutal attack. Local police are on the scene now but haven't given us any information…"

Ian tuned out the t.v. as he washed dishes, the soap stinging the small cuts on his hands. It was on for noise more so than him being interested in anything that went on in quiet suburbia. 

The Southside had enough crime daily to override shit that happened half an hour away from him. It wasn't like he lived in that area anymore. Not for a very, very long time. 

Probably just some gardener fucking the wife of the house and her husband happened to come home early on a business trip, or some sort of other cliche. Ian was sure the husband kicked ass, called the cops and looked for a good divorce lawyer.

Boring. 

With the dishes done and the kitchen spotless, Ian poured himself a fresh cup of hot coffee and walked through his small apartment barefoot. He continued to ignore the news lady or the flashing red and blue police lights and moved into his bedroom.

Crime in the uppity parts of Chicago or not, he still had to go to work. 

Ian sipped his coffee as he flipped through shirts in his closet. All dressy shirts that had to be dry cleaned. His fault really for working in any government job, even when he only handled the paperwork. 

This time he chose on a new pair of blue jeans, forgoing his normal choice of slacks, the shirt he chose was a soft cream color, silky and light. He wanted to be professional and comfortable, especially with how odd he was feeling lately. 

Moody and withdrawn, exhausted although he slept a solid eight hours at least every night. Muscles aches, like in his hands, his shoulders, too. He should have woken up feeling fresh as a daisy, not run down. 

It had been happening more over the past week or so. He had awful dreams, which could account for his exhaustion in the mornings. His mind felt foggy at times, like he was trying to recall something important but couldn't put his finger on it. Gaps of time missing, and not to mention the muscle aches. Like he over exercised at the gym.

Something was definitely off lately. 

Suddenly, as if his body knew he was trying to discover the deep seated issue behind it all, his head started to pound. Making him instantly back off of whatever he had been thinking, just so the pain lessened. 

Ian rubbed his temples, squinting at the dim light in his room, the overly loud t.v. seemed to be blaring right in his ear. The fan above him, lightly spinning air suddenly felt tornado strong. "God." He groaned, rubbing furiously until it didn't hurt so much.

Whatever was happening, he had to get to the bottom of it, or he'd have to see a doctor about the headaches. It was too much. 

When it eased up enough and his coffee was long since cold, Ian dressed quickly. He needed to go or he'd be late for the L and the walk and the fresh air would certainly help with his icky mood. 

Dressed and ready, briefcase and all, Ian stepped out of his apartment and locked the door. The same sound echoed behind him. He turned to see his friendly neighbor Lauren, a very kind but almost senile old lady who had a habit of over sharing.

"Ian dear, nice to see you. Off to work?" Lauren asked, slowly making her way over.

Ian smiled, not wanting to be rude but he was already late. "Yes ma'am, off now or I'll be late." He turned to leave and she followed. "Off to bingo so early?"

Lauren chuckled. "Oh no. It's much too late for that. But I did hear of a rather morbid attack uptown, did you hear about it?"

Ian watched her closely as they took the stairs down. "I might have heard something. But I didn't listen too hard. Lately the news makes me a little nauseous."

"Well, as awful as it sounds, I am dying to know what happened. You never hear about crime in those parts of Chicago. Too uppity and classy for such awfulness."

Ian narrowed his eyes, wondering exactly what type of awfulness she was meaning but he wasn't sure he wanted to ask. "Maybe you shouldn't go alone." He offered, smiling. "I know it's normally a safe part of town but you can't be too careful."

As Lauren started to ramble, Ian momentarily tuned her out, falling into those dark places of his mind that he thought he overcame years ago. Funny how one mention of an area of Chicago you lived in as a kid brings out every single bad memory from that time. 

It had his skin crawling, his head pounding worse than before. Ian tried to not listen, to ignore the sounds and voices of his past coming back for him and tried to focus on now. On the cool autumn breeze or the sounds of crunching leaves. 

"Ian?"

When a soft hand landed on his shoulder, Ian jumped like a cat. His feet clearing the ground. He pushed the hand away as the air in his lungs rushed out, leaving him breathless. 

"Oh, I didn't mean to scare you."

Shaking his head, Ian tried to get control of his shaking hands. It wasn't often that he had a freak out moment like that, it had been years since the last one. But the talk of that area of Chicago and the sudden touch had his mind and body racing to his past. 

"It's okay." Ian faked a smile and hitched the strap of his briefcase higher up his sore shoulder. "I just kinda spaced out for a moment."

Lauren nodded, her hand hovering over his arm but she put it back down. "I'm sorry all the same. I hope you have a good day, Ian."

"Thanks," he smiled as he walked further away. "You too, Ms. Walker."

He couldn't walk away fast enough. Not to get away from her, but from the memories and the emotions a simple conversation had brought back. He felt raw, exposed. Like he was under a microscope. 

"Just get it together." Ian muttered to himself as he stopped at the station. His hands were still shaking, and not from the cold. "It's just a coincidence."

It didn't matter how many times he repeated the words, it felt like a lie. It felt like he was back in that other life, back with those people. Back where he was trapped and alone, scared. 

When the train stopped, he couldn't even recognize his own face in the glass. He was as pale as a ghost.

**

"Is that the file on the Moore's?" Mickey asked when Marlowe walked in. He was neck deep in paperwork at his desk and needed a break before his eyes bugged out of his head. 

"Yeah, it is." Marlowe took a seat opposite him at her own desk. She set the file down and rubbed her eyes. 

"That bad?" Mickey asked, afraid of what might follow. 

"Honestly, I have no idea. From the outside, they seem normal." She flipped through the file, even when she had it memorized. "Jim Moore owns his own high-end hardware store, works forty hours a week. Sarah, is a stay at home wife. Which is a little odd because they have no children living with them and she's too young for retirement."

Mickey nodded. "Maybe Jimmy boy is one of those old fashioned guys who want their lady at home."

"Yeah, that's possible. Which I never understood, but I guess it's normal for some couples." Marlowe shivered. "They have two cars, both drive Caddy's, both paid off. No outstanding bills or debts."

"What about kids?" Mickey asked, grabbing for his fifth cup of coffee that tasted worse than tar. "That kid was in almost all of those photos. Maybe a relative?"

"They have no biological children according to public records. But they are listed as foster parents. Or were."

"Were?" Mickey asked, not liking the tone she used. "Did they suddenly stop for some reason or did they adopt a kid and got taken off a list?"

Marlowe dug through the papers. "They were listed as foster parents around fifteen years ago. All legal and above board. Everything checked out with them. Nothing fishy. No criminal history, both had good jobs, decent income."

"Well now I'm even more confused." Mickey groaned, hanging his head back. 

"I'm getting to that." Marlowe shot back. "They got taken off the list because the foster child they adopted ran away when he was sixteen."

Mickey snapped to attention and took the missing persons report she held out. It was old, definitely dated over seven years ago. The kid was young, fifteen maybe, with red hair and no smile, just like the pictures on the walls in the Moore house. 

"Ian Clayton Gallagher." Mickey read the name. "They reported him missing when he was sixteen. Told the cops they took him to school and never saw him again."

"Some foster kids are known to run away, but the foster parents are made out to be the bad guys because they are responsible. So, they take them off the list, at least for a certain amount of time to launch an investigation."

"You have his file?" Mickey asked, setting the paper aside as she handed the very thin file over. "Okay let's take a look here."

It took him a moment or two to look away from the pictures of a freckled face kid with no smile. Mickey noticed right away that he was sad. His eyes were sad, even when he did smile. 

"Okay, it says Ian came to them when he was around five years old. They didn't adopt until he was nearly eight years old though."

Marlowe spoke up. "The first few years are hard. Some fosters don't even make it that long. There could be underlying problems or past trauma."

"Well, they did adopt but Ian wanted to keep his last name. School records look okay, although the nurse reported a few bruises." He narrowed his eyes, not liking the feel of this still. "The Moore's chalked it up to him being a boy. Little rough housing, boys will be boys type deal."

"I can't tell if the school was trying to create a problem because they are taught to look for such things or if something more was going on." 

Mickey nodded. He understood too well about the school system. One bruise and they assume abuse. But if they ignore it, or when they do, abuse is happening right under their noses. It was hard to pinpoint which was which and when. 

"Later on as Ian got older, around twelve or so, the school did that bruise talk again." Mickey read through the information quickly. "This time Ian told them it was from messing around with his friends, so they didn't push the issue."

"That doesn't sound like normal stuff though. Not if the reports kept coming." Marlowe added. 

"No, it doesn't. Something feels off." Mickey dug through a few more papers. "Because now we have several hospital visits."

Marlowe held her hand out for the papers. "Says here that his arm was broken at fifteen, Ian claimed it was another accident with his friends. Then another time his rib was cracked, then a badly dislocated shoulder."

Mickey pushed the file away, that unease he felt earlier was just. He wanted to be sick. "Jesus Christ, they were abusing him."

Marlowe tossed the paper back. Then held her head in her hands. "Yes, they were."

"Well, that explains the locks in the kitchen and on the windows." Mickey added, pushing aside the papers to get to the stack of photos he hadn't looked through yet. He opened them, took one glance and handed them to her. "Just like you said, locking away food. Locked the windows so he couldn't just sneak out. Alarm system makes sense too."

Marlowe let out a nasty curse as she filtered through the pictures. "No wonder he went to school and never came back. Did you see the x-ray of his arm?"

Mickey nodded, teeth clenched. "One of 'em, probably Jim, twisted it behind his back so hard it broke."

"I suddenly don't feel bad that someone decided to off the both of them." Marlowe closed the pictures, setting them aside. "They didn't seem in a hurry to find him though. They didn't pester the cops, just that one flyer and that's all."

"Because they knew he wouldn't keep quiet for very much longer." Mickey suggested, rubbing his pounding head. "The older he got, the less control they had over him. He probably realized that he could easily take care of himself."

"No one has heard from him since then. But considering the Moore's didn't prompt them, local cops probably didn't try too hard."

Mickey sat forward, moving the papers away enough to reach his keyboard. He pulled up the Chicago DMV database and typed in Ian Gallagher's name, date of birth and social security number. It took less time to find him then it did to type in his name.

Mickey smiled. "Ian Clayton Gallagher, currently twenty-two years old, lives at The Avenue Apartments. Apartment A24, Canaryville Chicago. Kid lives in my old neighborhood."

Marlowe blinked slowly. "How long as he lived here?"

"Changed his licence when he updated his address over four years ago." Mickey quickly printed out his address, along with an updated picture. In this picture, Ian was smiling. Mickey caught himself fighting a smile. "He's been there for nearly four years. Means he lived somewhere unlisted for around two years after he went missing."

"If Ian was 15/16 then, he probably jumped from shelter to shelter until he got a job, saved up some cash." Marlowe got up, moving to Mickey's side to read over his shoulder. "His working address is close to his home. Works at a social services office?"

Mickey's eyebrows went up. "Well, I can see why. He could have used more help when social services had him under their control." 

Ian had been through the wringer. His biological parents weren't around. Spent five years in an orphanage, got adopted by abusive parents, ran away. Lived in squalor until he managed to get himself a place downtown. Which was not as nice as it sounded.

The kid had one hell of a hard life and yet he worked for social services, probably doing his best to help kids. Kids like him who could have used outside help. Someone to read between the lines and know he was lying as a kid. 

"Well, considering it's almost noon, should we assume he's at work?" Marlowe asked as she moved to her desk to grab her gun.

Mickey nodded and stood also, grabbing his gun from the locked drawer to his right. "It's a safe bet. Noon on a Thursday probably means work." He grabbed his jacket, both the Moore file and the Gallagher file. "If not, we can swing by his house."

"Somehow I don't think he's going to give a damn either way." Marlowe shot Mickey a look as they walked out of the precinct. "He got away from them for a damn good reason. He might end up being a suspect."

Mickey paused by his car, jaw locked. "You think he's a suspect?"

"You don't?" Marlowe asked, surprised. "Crime of passion, right? Personal connection? What could be more personal than an abused son?"

It was hard to argue with that, so he didn't. Ian Gallagher was their most likely suspect. What better way to get a read on him then being there when they break the news to him? Emotions like that, fueled by anger and hatred, by fear, are hard to hide. 

**

The news from his murders were all over Chicago. From the news on tv he heard this morning, to the headlines in the local newspapers, to the talk on the radio.

He was everywhere. His work. 

It was glorious. Every single moment the world talked about what he did, talked about those poor people, the more he smiled. 

Justice was sweet. 

They were liars, the both of them. Living in that immaculate house, wearing designer clothes, driving luxury cars. The happy little couple. 

Not. Lies. All of it. 

It was time he put a stop to it. It was up to him alone because only he knew the truth about them. Only be knew what they were capable of. He saw the way they treated Ian, the bruises, his arm in a cast. 

He saw the sad smiles, forced by a heavy hand. Forced to lie and smile about it. Forced to see the sad smile from a social worker who knew, who knew all along but didn't help him.

Ian lived through all of it. That poor, helpless boy. 

Unlike the rest of the children like Ian, the ones who suffered well past their teen years, Ian got away. Ian got himself away with no help, no money and no place to go. Ian left when he knew the beatings were getting worse, when the only other way to inflict pain, was to kill him.

He protected Ian from the time he was seven. As much as he could have, being a few years older. As much as anyone should have. And it was enough. His help, helped Ian survive. Ian never knew of his help, he still didn't know. 

But it had always been there.

Now they were dead. Ian was safe. He did his job, it took seeing the Moore's try and adopt another kid to set him off enough to end it, but it was over. 

There would never be another child hurt under that roof. That was all that mattered as he smiled at the t.v., as they showed Jim and Sarah Moore being carted out of that house.


	2. Secrets

Beneath the Surface  
Chapter 2- Secrets

"This looks like a nice place." Mickey nodded appreciatively as they stepped out of his car. 

Marlowe smiled. "Mick, of course it does. It's supposed to look squeaky clean. It's supposed to make others feel inferior."

The Child Services building was smaller than he imagined on the outside, but clean and it had that new look to it. It had been there for the last eight years, and so far, they didn't have any investigations open. 

"You need to lighten up, Summers." Mickey smirked as she glared at him for the use of her last name, the sentence itself and holding the door open for her. "Not everything is as bad as you think." 

Marlowe stopped at the first cluttered desk she saw, eyes focused on her partner. "If I assume the best, I always get let down and it feels twice as worse as being negative in the first place."

With nothing else to say about that touchy topic, Mickey gave his friendliest smile at the woman behind the cluttered desk. She looked up, brown eyes increasingly wide. 

Great, now she thought he was flirting. 

"Hello, can I help you?" She asked with a bright smile, leaning too far forward so the neckline of her blouse dipped low. 

Mickey didn't react and her smile slipped. "My name is Detective Milkovich, this is Detective Summers with the Chicago Police Department."

Her smile turned into a frown. She sat up straight, pulling her blouse closed. "Let me get my supervisor on the phone."

As she picked up the phone, Mickey and Marlowe turned to take in the space. Row after row of small, white cubicles lined the space. No more than an inch or two apart. Each individual cubicle was tricked out into whatever that person liked.

One woman had nothing but cats. Figures, pictures, a calendar hanging on the wall. Another cubicle had much of the same, but it was a man and he had cars instead of cats. Then there was an older woman in the corner with frogs. 

It was stuffy, suffocating. 

Mickey knew his set up with Marlowe was small, their desks back to back, no bigger than a teacher's desk in a school. But no walls surrounding them like those cubicles. No running theme taking over. 

"Jesus. This place looks like death." Mickey was forced to laugh when Marlowe looked at him, eyes wide. "I would die here in like a week."

"They have more room then we do."

"Yeah, but the walls make it all seem smaller. No?" Mickey asked, pointing to the older lady nearly engulfed in the walls of the cubicle. 

"Excuse me?" 

Mickey glanced back to see an older lady in one of those three piece pants suits standing behind them. Arms crossed over her chest but despite the aggressive stance, she was smiling.

"Are you the supervisor?" Marlowe asked.

"I am. My name is Nicole Roberts. You're from CPD?"

"Yes ma'am, we are. I'm Detective Summers, this is my partner Detective Milkovich. We need to talk to one of your employees. Ian Gallagher."

Mickey watched her kind smile slip a little. Did it slip because she suspected something oddly new about Ian, or was she just concerned about one of her staff members?

"Is everything alright?" Nicole asked quietly.

"We just need to talk to him. Is he here?" Mickey answered her question as vaguely as possible, as they always did. "It's important."

"Yes, he is." Nicole glanced around the room. "His desk is this way."

Mickey let Marlowe lead. He followed them, keeping an ear out for any chatter. People who worked in close proximity like this were physically unable to mind their own business. 

When they stopped, Mickey looked up to see a shockingly handsome redhead behind one of the cubicles in the corner. He looked so much better than that DMV photo, it didn't do him justice and Mickey was only able to see one side of his profile. 

First thing he noticed; his jawline. Perfectly sculpted, a little crooked on one side, smooth. Then his red hair that seemed like it took hours to get it in that no nonsense style where it looked untamed. Then the perfect bridge of his nose. Thin, pink lips that didn't hold a smile. The freckles across his cheeks were barely noticeable now, unlike when he was a kid. 

Ian Gallagher was kinda beautiful.

"Ian, these detectives need a word with you." Nicole tried for a smile and failed when Ian looked at her.

"Yeah, sure." Ian stopped typing, eyes glancing behind his supervisor. "What's going on?"

Mickey glanced to Nicole, who was hovering. "Ma'am, we need to speak with Mister Gallagher alone please."

Nicole blushed. "Yes, of course. Please feel free to use the conference room."

They waited for her to walk away before Marlowe spoke up. "Mind leading us there? This needs to be done in private."

Ian nodded quickly, hands twitchy for a moment before he moved from his desk, smoothing down his shirt and walked down the small hallway. 

Everyone was looking at them. 

That was a little more public than Mickey was comfortable with. Ian, too if his nervous demeanor was anything to go by. Shaky hands, wide green eyes, hesitating before he moved.

Maybe he was flustered from their surprise visit, or maybe Marlowe was right and Ian was guilty of something. That would make him flustered as well.

"Just this way." Ian said quietly, avoiding the eyes on him as he led them down the hallway. He opened the door and turned the light on, then stepped aside. "What's this about?"

Mickey and Marlowe moved inside and shut the door. "Wanna sit?" Mickey asked as he pulled out one of the highbacked office chairs and sat down

Green eyes looked over. "I'm actually kinda too anxious to sit down. Mind if I stand?"

"Why are you anxious?" Marlowe asked, smiling a little. 

"Maybe because you just perp- walked me out of work and haven't told me why you're here in the first place." Ian said quietly, rubbing the forming headache behind his eyes.

Mickey laughed, he couldn't help it. Ian managed a smile because of it and like always, Marlowe glared at him. "Yeah, sorry about that. My name is Mickey Milkovich, this is Marlowe Summers; Chicago PD."

Ian held out his hand to each of them, shaking it softly. "Ian Gallagher, but you already knew that. What's going on?"

Mickey admired his soft spoken nature. His voice always calm, but inquisitive. Even under pressure Ian remained the same as he was if they never arrived. 

"Actually, yes." Mickey dug into the file for the photos. He put them on the desk and watched Ian's eyes widen. "Do you know these two people?"

Ian opened his mouth, then closed it. His head pounding furiously. "Yes. That is Jim and Sarah Moore. The people who adopted me."

It was said with absolutely no affection. None. Ian said it as clinically correct as possible. He didn't call them mom and dad, he didn't say parents. Only their legal names. 

When Ian didn't look away from the pictures, Mickey grabbed them, tucking them into the folder. Ian blinked, his eyes returning to their normal size. But they were dead, lifeless. Void of any human comfort. 

It gave him the chills. 

"Well Ian, we are sorry to tell you this, but they were found dead in their home this morning." Marlowe spoke up, her voice soft. 

Mickey studied him. And at the big reveal, green eyes once again widened in shock, absolute shock. He seemed a bit paler than he had been moments ago, a little more uneasy. 

"I heard something like that on the news but I didn't think…" Ian trailed off at the crackling sound of his voice breaking. He cleared it and licked his lips. "They were attacked?"

They traded looks. 

"Is that what the news said?" Marlowe asked as she took a seat. "An attack?"

"I think so. I had the news on but I had to get ready for work so I wasn't paying attention." Ian paused, took a deep breath and finally took his seat. "My neighbor mentioned something about it too."

"Yes, they were attacked sometime this morning." Mickey added, his eyes soaking up every move Ian made. 

From how shaken he looked, but how relieved. How he didn't start crying, or seem sad. Even when they knew the reason behind why he wasn't. Mickey also noticed a few bruises on Ian's hands, scratches but nothing that might suggest beating two people to death. 

Ian didn't say anything to that. But he did rub over his head, like he was nursing a hangover or a headache. Mickey could even see his jaw clench and unclench every other moment. 

"Ian, we have you listed as a missing person when you were around sixteen." Marlowe took out the flyer and pushed it across the table. "Can you tell us why?"

Ian grabbed the paper, glanced at a younger version of his face then flipped it and pushed it back to her. "I'd rather not. It was a long time ago and as you can see, I'm no longer missing."

Mickey covered his smile with the back of one hand. "Yes, we can see rhay, Ian. And we have a pretty good idea of why you were missing, but we hoped you would like to tell us."

Ian met soft, curious blue eyes. "Maybe you should tell me what you think happened."

Marlowe nodded. "Okay. Well, when we were there this morning, we saw locks on the cabinets in the kitchen, the refrigerator and the freezer."

Mickey saw Ian swallow thickly, but remained passive.

"The outside windows also had locks on them, and not from the security company." Marlowe continued, hoping Mickey was picking up some of his behavior while she decided on how much to tell him. 

Ian glanced to her, no change in his voice or the emotions on his face. He was blank. "And what does that tell you, Detective Summers?" 

"That alone tells us that they are control freaks. It's also a form of abuse."

Ian flinched, closing his eyes before he was back to being blank. 

"Or maybe they just didn't like unscheduled meal times." Ian said flatly.

With a smile, Marlowe nodded. "That could be, yes. And I, we, might believe it if we didn't take a look at your history with the Moore's." She paused to slide a few papers over to him.

Ian didn't react.

"In there, your school notes bruises that your adoptive parents called rough housing. Then a few years later, it was reported again in which you told the school you were messing around with your friends."

Mickey watched that sturdy jaw clench over and over again. 

"Boys will be boys, right?" Ian asked with a forced smile. 

"It is possible." Marlowe pulled out the hospitals records. "Until you showed up with a spiral fracture in your arm." She pointed to the x-ray. "That type of break only happens when your arm is wrenched around your back when someone grabbed you."

Ian shrugged. "Even if that did happen, which I said it didn't, it doesn't really matter anymore. Does it?"

Mickey nodded. "Not so much. Even when we know it is true, they are still dead. S6,o we can't convict on abuse."

Ian nodded sadly. "Is there anything else you'd like to know then? Aside from my childhood?"

They would get nowhere with this. Ian clearly wouldn't tell them the truth, or didn't care enough about the Moore's to dig into his history again. He seemed almost non affected by it, but Mickey could tell he was. 

"When was the last time you saw them?" Mickey asked, even when he was sure he knew the answer. 

Ian didn't hesitate. "It was Friday, March 19th, 2003 at 7:32 that morning."

"Wow, that is rather specific." Mickey said quietly, caught more off guard then he should have been.

Of course Ian would know the exact time, year and date he ran away. It was the decision that changed his entire life. And nothing on his face showed that he had seen them since then. 

"It's just a time I remember well, detective." Ian responded with a shy smile. "Is that all?"

Marlowe shook her head. "I find it odd that you haven't asked what happened to them, or if we have any leads or ideas who might have done it."

"Let's just say that I am no longer interested in the Moore family. Dead or alive." Ian linked his fingers, then checked his watch. "I am sorry that they are dead simply because they are dead, but I have no desire for the details."

Either Ian still hadn't gotten over his childhood, which was understandable. Or he got over it alarmingly well and was simply disinterested. Both of which had their own set of issues to tackle.

"Okay then. Well, we can spare the details and saying 'we are sorry for your loss', but we still have more questions." Mickey caught Ian's eyes and held it. In the end, he looked away first, not Ian. "Maybe you could tell us where you were this morning."

Ian nodded. "Of course I can, detective. I was at home since yesterday at around 6pm."

Mickey arched an eyebrow. "Anyone to verify that?"

"Well, given that I live alone, probably not. But my neighbor was there when I got home and she saw me out this morning when I left."

Mickey wrote it down in his notepad. "And what time did you leave?"

Ian closed one eye, tilting his head to pinpoint the right time. "Was a little late because I did the dishes this morning instead of last night. But only by like four minutes."

Mickey smiled. Ian was unusual, precise, but he kinda liked it. 

"I left the house around 7:40. Talked to her for about five minutes before I had to run and catch the L to work." Ian offered a smile, his hands still linked on the table. 

Marlowe nodded. "And what time did you arrive here?"

"8:15, which is five minutes later than my normal time. Those dishes really set off the entire morning for me."

Mickey laughed as he wrote it down. When he looked up, amused green eyes were locked on him. "Yeah, dishes fuck up my morning, too."

Ian grinned. "Glad to know it's not just me." 

Marlowe shifted awkwardly. "Will your boss verify when you arrived?"

"Of course. Feel free to ask her. I logged in five minutes after I got here."

Mickey knew Marlowe would check with the boss and if they had any cameras, and when Ian signed in. But he had no doubt about Ian not telling the truth. Ian was far too precise and helpful to be lying. 

Or maybe he was all wrong and Ian was an accomplished liar.

"I will. Thank you." Marlowe smiled tightly as she stood, gave Mickey a pointed look and left them.

Ian waited until the door closed. "She doesn't like me."

"Don't take it too personal, she doesn't like most people." Mickey smiled. "And this case is a little confusing. Especially when you won't talk to us about them."

Ian's smile faded. "I understand you have a job to do, Detective Milkovich--"

Mickey put his hand up. "Just Mickey, please."

Ian's smile made a brief comeback. "Mickey; but if you're as sure as you sound about my past with them, then I'm sure you understand my reluctance not to talk about it."

Ian pretty much just confirmed the abuse without even saying anything. 

"Trust me, Ian, I am sure. And I hope you believe me when I say I'd rather not have to ask you about all that bad shit." Mickey waited until Ian tipped his head, saying yes. "And if it wasn't important, I wouldn't waste the time and ask."

Ian sighed, rubbing his eyes again when they pounded. "I just fail to see why it matters now. It was in the past, I told you I haven't seen them since that day, and now they are dead. My history does not matter."

Mickey smiled. "That might be true, but whoever did this was close to them, Ian. It was personal, it was someone who had a problem with them." He held out his hands, motioning to his area. 

Ian blinked slowly, surprised. "I'm a suspect?"

"Until I can verify you were where you said you were, yes. You have the closest connection to them. It's very personal for you and you have a bad history with them."

"Trust me, Mickey," Ian said calmly. "If I was going to kill them, I wouldn't have waited over six years to do it."

Again, Ian had a point.

"Maybe I should get a lawyer?" Ian asked seriously, but the tone of his voice never changed. 

Mickey shrugged. "That is always your right, Ian. And if you want one, our talk ends now."

Ian nodded. "Considering you're a professional and know more about this case than I do, would you recommend one?"

"I can't answer that without a biased opinion. But I can say that getting a lawyer this quickly doesn't look too good for you." Mickey answered honestly, meeting his eyes so Ian could see the truth. "If you're as confident as you seem about your story and your whereabouts, then I'm sure it'll all check out."

"I believe you." Ian smiled as he stood. "Is that all, detective? I really should be getting back to work."

Mickey stood, grabbing both files as he tucked his notepad into the inside pocket of his jacket. "I think that covers the basics for now. I'm sure you already realized I will be back after I check on some stuff."

Ian smiled again as the pounding in his head eased off. "You know where to find me, Mickey. Here or at home, you're welcome to both."

It seemed far too easy. He seemed too innocent and trusting. 

"Thank you." Mickey offered a smile, feeling his widen when Ian's did. "Have a good day." He held out his hand, keeping eye contact when Ian's larger one took it gently and shook it.

"Have a good day, Mickey."

Mickey forced himself to walk out as Ian did, he also had to not look at how tall he was, or how wide his shoulders were. Broad and strong and….shit. It wasn't working. 

Thankfully, Ian moved back to his corner cubicle, going right to his computer as if nothing happened in the last half hour. As if Ian didn't just get told that the Moore's were dead. 

It was odd, but not at the same time.

"You done?"

Marlowe's voice made him jump. It made her laugh like the asshole she was. He glared. "Yes, I'm done. You done sneaking?"

"I wasn't sneaking. You are just too preoccupied staring at Ian." She shook her head, giving him that disapproving look.

"I was just thinking how weird it was for him to go right back to work after all that." Mickey glared at her insinuating words and pointed back to Ian typing away. "Like he just stepped out for coffee."

Marlowe nodded, her eyes narrowed. "He does seem very calm about all of this. Unaffected. He doesn't even seem angry about us mentioning them or the abuse."

"He seems indifferent." Mickey offered as they walked further away. "Like he has better things to do then help solve their murder."

"Well, I talked to his boss and she said Ian was only five minutes late like he said. He clocked in when he said."

Mickey nodded. "We can go talk to the neighbor about her seeing him last night and this morning?" He framed it as a question, thinking that if that checked out too they might need another suspect. 

"Only one of us needs to go for that." Marlowe walked out with Mickey right behind her, popping a piece of gum into his mouth. "Wanna drop me off at the precient? I still need to call about the alarm system and see if the Moore's did have any cameras up."

Nodding, Mickey got behind the wheel and started the car as she joined him. "We can knock two things out at once. By then, Jerry should have some more info about the bodies."

"Sounds like a plan."

**

After Marlowe nearly jumped out of a moving car...not really, but she seemed in a hurry, Mickey drove back to the Southside, to The Avenue Apartments to talk to his neighbor. 

The complex was nice considering its location. The name in big white letters framed by bricks and bushes. The apartments were two stories, both on either side with the driving area and parking lot in a wrap around fashion to the other side. Side A on the right, B on the left and the office was smack dab in the back, hidden behind a few trees and it wall all surrounded by a white gate.

It was well maintained. All brick, the stairwell to each section was well lit and open, the other side closed so there was only one way to enter. There were large patches of grass with those poop scoop stations, a playground on one side.

But what Mickey noticed the most, was the two security cameras on either side of the office building. One pointing to side A, the other to side B. It was smart. It would help. If they were working.

More than once, cameras had been placed in various places for show only. Usually in stores or bars to scare people into thinking it was real. Kinda smart, but ultimately useless. 

As he drove slowly around, he cased the people coming and going. Mostly older, lower class. A lot of older cars, too. But at least it was clean, unlike his childhood home. And the people around didn't seem too shocked to see an obvious undercover car rolling up. Some even waved. 

He parked right in front of the office and killed the engine. Then got out. The office was small, to the right of the playground and had a small laundry area connected, he could smell detergent and hear the tumble of a dryer. 

The blinds were closed, but the sign said open.

Grabbing his badge from his coat pocket, Mickey knocked on the door loud enough to be heard. While he waited, he glanced at the few residences that trickled outside. Curious eyes, possible witnesses or just the usual company. 

"Come in!!" A female voice called loudly.

Mickey turned the knob and stepped in, eyed the woman behind the desk and shut the door. Maybe it was his overall quiet mood, but she stopped clicking away on her computer.

"Yes, can I help you?" 

Mickey nodded, flashing his badge. "I'm Detective Milkovich with CPD. I need to ask about one of your residence Miss…"

She stood, hand out. "Call me Angie, please."

"Angie." Mickey smiled and shook her hand. She motioned to the empty chair in front of her desk and he sat down.

"Which resident?"

"Ian Gallagher." Mickey replied, taking the photo of Ian from his jacket pocket and showed her. "Says he lives in A24?"

Angie clicked on her computer. "Yes, apartment A24."

"How long has he lived here?"

More clicking. "This year will make four."

"Have you had any issues with him in that time?" Mickey asked, just fishing. Strangers like to talk. "Late rent or noise complaints or any shady people recently?"

Angie frowned. "Not really. Rent is $800, always due on the first. He always pays at least one day ahead. And as for the other questions, I really have no idea."

Mickey arched an eyebrow. "No?"

"I'm the only one in this office, Detective. And I'm only here until four and not here at all on the weekends. As long as the resident pays rent on time, we really don't have contact."

The office was small, and it did only have one desk set up. Maybe it was just her. But that left a lot of time for Ian to come and go without being bothered or seen. 

"I noticed you have cameras outside. Any chance those work?" He asked hopefully. 

Angie nodded. "Yes, they work. But we only have the two cameras."

Ian's apartment was close to one of those cameras. 

"Any chance I can take the footage for them?"

Angie squirmed. "Can I ask what this is about? I only manage this office, while the owner does our other location. I'd have to get the okay from them."

"I can't disclose details ma'am. I just need to know if Mister Gallagher was where he said he was." 

"I can call my boss and ask if she's okay with letting you use them."

Mickey smiled. "That would be great, thanks. I'm just gonna walk around for a minute until you're done." He stood and moved to the door. 

"I'll be here." 

With that, Mickey stepped back outside, popping a piece of minty gum instead of grabbing for the pack of smokes he no longer carried. He spent the last four months trying to quit. Using gum as a substitute. Not that nicorette gum either, normal chewing gum with no nicotine. 

Having a high stress job didn't improve his chances of not smoking again. He basically lived off twice filtered coffee and smokes. But the last straw had been around Christmas when Marlowe was being chased by a gun toting meth head and he had to burn rubber just to catch up in time.

After that, after nearly being too late to help her, Mickey decided to quit. 

It didn't take him long to find A24. It was up top, only a flight or two of stairs that lead him right up to the door.

Without Ian's permission or a signed warrant, he couldn't enter legally. And if he did and found something, or anything really, it wouldn't be admissible and he would be in a shit load of trouble. 

Good thing he didn't need in there just yet.

Instead, Mickey moved to the door across from Ian's. And unlike Ian's empty doorway, this one had a mat that said 'welcome' and fake potted plants on either side of the mat. 

Mickey knocked loudly and heard a yappy dog bark. Then cursing, followed by quick, shuffling steps before the door was opened. An older lady filled the doorway, her scowl gone the instant he smiled.

"Sorry to bother you, ma'am," Mickey kept his smile as he flashed his badge. "Mind if I ask you a few questions?"

The yapping got louder. Forcing the older woman to step out, closing the door behind her. 

"Of course. What can I help you with?"

He thumbed behind his shoulder to Ian's door. "Do you know Mister Gallagher well?"

"Not as well as I'd like." She teased, laughing. "He is a pretty thing, shy too. But he always has to remind me that he plays for the other team."

She was so casual about it. Mickey felt his skin prickle over the new information. Ian was gay. Not uncommon in 2019. It just so happened that he was gay himself. Also, nothing surprising. And just because two men who knew each other vaguely and preferred men to women, didn't mean they would hook up or anything. 

Two straight people weren't automatically attracted to each other just because they were straight. People had types, standards.

It didn't even matter that he already assessed the overall look of Ian's body, it was….fine. And maybe he stared too hard, or maybe a few of those long looks Ian gave him were just normal…

Maybe. Maybe not. No time to find out one way or another. Even if it wasn't wildly inappropriate. 

"I take it you play for that team, too?" 

Mickey glanced away at her bright smile, knowing that if he met her eyes, his blush would spread. Not that he was shy about being gay, but she seemed a little too interested, a little too happy.

"Oh my, you're just as shy as he is." She chuckled lightly. "Forgive me, I forget myself sometimes."

Mickey nodded. "You were telling me about Ian…" He prompted.

"Yes, Ian. He is just the sweetest young man. Well mannered, especially for living where we do. Always holds doors or carries my bags up the stairs. Such a sweet boy."

"He sounds very nice, ma'am." Mickey smiled because he had no idea what to do with the information she gave him. "I talked to him this morning and he mentioned you. That you saw him last night when he got home and when he left this morning. Can you verify that miss….?"

"My name is Lauren Walker, mister…?"

Mickey smiled. "Detective Milkovich, ma'am."

Lauren smiled back. "And yes, I saw him last night when he got here and again this morning as we left."

"Do you remember what time that was?" 

Lauren was silent for a moment. "I heard him around six last night when I went to take my dog out. And this morning a little after 7:30. We walked out and spoke for a moment before we parted ways."

Shit. That meant that Ian told the truth...which was good. But that left him chasing his own tail. 

"Nothing between that time? Or maybe you heard him leave or noticed if he had any company?" Mickey asked, once again fishing for information. 

"He has ways been a silent guy, detective. Keeps to himself. Goes to work and such." Lauren glanced down, then shyly back up. "But I did hear him arguing with someone early this morning."

Mickey's eyebrows lifted. "Ian didn't mention that. Any idea who it was?"

"I only heard his voice, so I assumed it was on the phone but…"

"But?"

She sighed quietly. "But, I'm a bored old lady and peeked out the peep hole and saw someone leaving in a hurry."

Ian hadn't mentioned that either. 

"Did you get a look?" Mickey asked but she shook her head. "Man, woman, black, white?"

"It was dark. The only thing I know is that it may have been a man and he was tall. Around six foot I'd say."

Mickey wrote quickly. "You didn't see a face?"

"Even with the lighting out here, it's very dark. And he was wearing a big jacket with a hood. So, no. I'm sorry."

Mickey smiled. "That is very helpful, Ms. Walker."

She smiled.

"Had you seen this guy before?" 

"No, never." Lauren answered quickly. "But from the way he left, he was angry, or upset? He slammed the door on his way out."

So, up until now, Ian had been telling the truth. But why leave that part out? Why bring up his neighbor if he knew she might have seen his early visitor? 

"Thank you, Ms. Walker." Mickey smiled even when he didn't feel it and put his notebook in his pocket. "That was very helpful." He handed her a card. "If you happen to see Ian's visitor again, could you give me a call, please?"

Lauren took the card. "I will."

"Have a good day, ma'am." Mickey gave one last smile and took the stairs down just as the office door opened and Angie poked her head out.

"Detective?"

Mickey jogged over and slipped inside the opened door. "What did your boss say?"

Angie sat down behind her desk. "She said no, I'm sorry."

Mickey deflated. "Did she happen to say why?"

"She said because our residence privacy is important and unless you have a warrant for the tapes I'm not allowed to give it to you."

There was that red police tape he hated so much. Warrants, approval from one of his bosses. It was always something.

Mickey smiled because she looked a little afraid and after all, it wasn't up to her. "Thank you for trying. Have a good day." He opened the door and left, winding his car around the lot and back to the main road.

His phone rang.

Mickey turned, digging his fingers into his jeans to grab it. He glanced at Marlowe's name quickly before he answered it. "Yeah?"

"You get anywhere with Ian's apartment?"

"Yeah and no. They have surveillance cameras but the owners won't give em up without a warrant. Right now we have jack shit to request those tapes."

Marlowe groaned. "Yeah. You headed back?"

Mickey stopped at the red light. "Yeah, on the way back. You call the security company for the Moore's house?"

"Yeah and your hunch was right." Marlowe chuckled. "They had a camera pointed towards the front door."

Mickey grinned, driving as the light changed. "You got the footage or do we need a warrant for that, too?"

"They are sending the tapes over within the hour. No warrant needed. They are happy to help."

"Good. Now we can see who went in the house, given that they used the front door."

"And if it shows Ian Gallagher?"

His smile slipped. "If it shows Ian Gallagher entering or leaving the house, we arrest him and that gives us enough for the warrant for the tapes."

"Alright. Well get back here as soon as you can. Jerry called too, has some stuff for us."

Mickey stepped on the gas. "Be there in five."

**

Now Ian was a suspect? How? What information could they possibly have on him? 

He made sure Ian was safe, at all times. Like he always did. He kept Ian far away from that shit. 

That female detective, Marlowe, didn't trust Ian. She didn't have to say it. He knew from one look at them all gathered around the table. She's the one who told Mickey, the reasonable one, that Ian might be a suspect. 

He heard it all and it pissed him off. Couldn't they see that Ian was too sweet to hurt anyone? Couldn't they see how good he was, even after all he went through? 

Ian still suffered from his past, even when he hid it well and if anyone knew Ian like he did, they would be able to see how afraid he was. They didn't know that Ian still had nightmares, they didn't see him wake up in a sweat, panting, crying. 

Those detectives didn't know that because of what happened to Ian as a child, that he didn't let people into his life. No friends. Not even people from work knew him that well.

Ian didn't date or have sex because he couldn't open up to anyone. Ian had so much to offer the world and he was all alone.

That's why it was up to him to make sure Ian got what he needed. Even if he had to do it behind his back. 

When those detectives left, he knew they would be back. He could hear the doubt in their voices. He could see it on their faces. They would try and hurt Ian if they could and there was no way he would stand there and do nothing.


	3. Threats

Beneath the Surface  
Chapter 3- Threats

On his way to his desk, Mickey stopped by the break room and grabbed two cups of their usual awful coffee, no cream or sugar, then walked the rest of the way. 

Marlowe was behind her desk, the corded phone resting in the crook of her shoulder as she spoke into it. She shuffled papers, dug into files and never stopped talking.

As he sat down, she looked up the second she smelled the coffee and smiled. Mickey smiled back and handed her the cup as he sat back with his own and waited for her to get done. 

It took a few seconds before she put the phone down, groaning and drank her coffee like she needed it to live. That feeling was mutual. Mickey was feeling the effects of no sleep. 

"So, what was that?" Mickey asked, his head tilted back on the chair.

"Jerry, talking my damn ear off. He seems to think I need to know how the test work to get the results."

Mickey smiled. "He knows you don't. And I also know he has a crush on you." His smile widened when she grimaced. "Not your type?"

Marlowe shivered. "No. He yours?"

Mickey shivered too, making them both laugh. "Not at all my type, Marlowe. I'm not all that attracted to people who touch dead bodies."

"True." She tipped her cup. 

"Did he say the tests were ready? Or any of the evidence they collected?"

Marlowe nodded. "Yes, he wants to talk to both of us. You wanna head there first or do you want to go over the footage from the alarm system?"

"Let's do the alarm shit first. That way we have a better idea who was there." Mickey stood, grabbing both of their coffees as she grabbed the evidence.

"You learn anything from the neighbor?" Marlowe asked as they walked.

Mickey nodded. "Yeah. She paints a pretty picture of him. Says he's nice and quiet, sweet." Marlowe smiled at that. "Her words, not mine. Helps her with carrying bags, keeping her curiosity peaked."

Marlowe snorted.

"But, she said that this morning, before they met outside for work, that she heard Ian arguing with someone."

"Did she say who? Or see anyone?" Marlowe asked as they rounded the corner. 

Mickey shook his head. "She said she thought he was on the phone because she didn't hear anyone else but when she peaked out, she saw someone leaving. Said he slammed the door."

"So, it's possible we have an unknown male that might be involved?"

"Yes, that's possible." Mickey repeated. It felt good to know that maybe it wasn't Ian after all. That it may have been someone else. "But she didn't get a good enough look, Ian didn't mention anything like that this morning and we don't have enough to get the tapes from his complex."

They stopped outside the room.

"No, but maybe these tapes will fill in the blanks. If not, we see what Ian has to say about this mystery guy."

They moved into the audio lab, happy it was empty or they'd have to kick everyone out until they were done. Mickey sat on top of the table as she put the thin, unmarked disc into the DVD player.

"You want it to be someone else, don't you?" Marlowe asked, remote in hand.

"Kinda, yeah." Mickey handed her the coffee back. "Seems like they put him through enough shit as a kid and even if he seemed unaffected earlier, we both know he isn't over it."

"Yeah, I saw the signs too. Mickey. And he has been through the wringer and back. But that doesn't give him the right to kill anyone."

Mickey felt his shoulders tighten up. "Yeah. I'm aware. Let's just see, yeah? That way I don't have to be wrong either way. Maybe it'll show more of this unknown male that wiggled into our story."

Marlowe nodded and pressed play on the remote. "The cameras only come on a few times. They don't stay on all day and night."

Mickey rolled his eyes.

"They come on briefly when the door is opened, or the alarm system gets interrupted." Marlowe pointed to the door opening. "This is the morning of the murder, about an hour and a half or so before, if the time stamp is right."

Mickey nodded. As complicated as it seemed, Marlowe seemed to have it down. Probably because she pestered the shit out of the company until they explained it in a way normal people could understand. 

It was dark outside, before the murder. So that put it at around 4:30 in the morning. The door opened, which activated the camera, and Mickey could see Mister Moore walking onto the porch. He wore the clothes they found him in, as well as one of the cups that had been on the floor.

"Same clothes, drinking coffee." Mickey said, just because it helped to think out loud. 

Marlowe nodded.

Then Mister Moore was moving down the walkway, disappearing off camera for a few moments before he reappeared with the mail, his back facing the camera. He didn't doddle, he just moved back inside as the door closed. 

"Okay, so that was normal." Mickey emptied his cup and set it down. "Took less than two minutes and he didn't just run back inside so obviously there was no one lurking."

Marlowe nodded. "Maybe he left the door unlocked? Alarm off like we found it?"

Mickey nodded. "That's a little early to be up for work, but he might be the early riser type. So yeah, he probably didn't bother to reset it."

"Let's keep watching then."

Silence once again settled over them. Mickey felt a little agitated as they watched the time run at the bottom of the t.v. From the time Mister Moore closed the door, the camera was blank. Only the time in one corner.

Until it came back up.

"Okay, more movement." Marlowe pointed to the tv. "You see the shadow there?"

Mickey had to squint to see it, but yeah, there was a shadow off to one side, halfway up the driveway. "Maybe it's our unknown male?"

When Marlowe didn't answer, Mickey refocused on the t.v. For a minute or so, the shadow didn't move, it stood just out of the eyeline of the camera, as if whoever it was knew about it.

Then the shadow moved slowly, as if not in any hurry. Whoever it was, was tall, most likely a man, just like Ms. Walker said, wearing dark jeans and boots with a big, hooded jacket. He slowly moved up the walkway, stopping at the door. 

"Pause it." Mickey spoke up. Seconds later it was paused. "Okay, so we work this as we go."

Marlowe nodded. "First things first, he doesn't seem like he's in a hurry."

"Nope. It seems like he has all the time in the world. Might mean he knows when the community is active and it's not that early."

"Also, Ian's neighbor did say a tall guy. This guy is tall. Do the clothes match?"

"All she said was a big jacket and that he was tall. Not specific but it's what we got here so maybe." Mickey got up, moving close to the t.v. "He also knows there is a camera and knows enough to keep his back to us at all times."

"We did say the killer would be close to them. He would have to know they had a camera, and where." Marlowe looked at him, silently prompting the obvious. 

"Unless we see Gallagher's face, he is innocent." Mickey moved back, spinning his finger until she hit play. 

The man stood there for a good five minutes before he reached out and opened the door, slipped inside and shut it. All without making a sound, or showing his face. 

Then nothing.

"Okay, so he is very confident here." Mickey rubbed the back of his neck. "He is in within seconds, no hesitation and no glances at his face."

Marlowe groaned. "And when he reached for the door, he was wearing gloves. I assume he wore them the entire time, so no prints."

The camera went dark from lack of activity. 

"And I didn't see a weapon unless he used something from inside." Mickey added as he began to pace. "So, he goes in, surprises both of them. They drop their coffee and he's on them within seconds."

Marlowe nodded. "Until Jerry tells us who died first and how, it's all speculation for now. It's as good a guess as any. But there were no reports on either of them screaming for help and the rest of the house is untouched."

Mickey nodded. "Which means he either overpowered them at the same time so neither of them had a chance, or did one quietly before the other walked in."

They needed more. They needed the details. 

A few moments later, the camera turned back on.

Mickey glanced at the time stamp, it took less than half an hour from when the unknown male walked inside. Half an hour to overpower two people, kill them and leave. 

It was impressive.

"Okay, no other way out so he has to use the front." Marlowe moved closer, eyes eagerly scanning the entire t.v. "It's gotta show his face."

Just as before, the man calmly opened the front door, slipped out, and shut the door almost all the way behind him. The hood was still over his head, creating a big shadow where his face was. He didn't glance up, or turn back to look at the house, or scope the surrounding area. He simply walked down the stairs, down the walkway and disappeared off camera.

Mickey let go of the breath he'd been holding. "Fuck, he didn't give us a damn thing." 

Marlowe groaned, putting her head in her hands. "Again, no hesitation. He walked out as easily as he walked in. No hesitation, no paranoia of any kind. Not even a subtle life of his head."

The camera turned off and stayed off until Marlowe shut it off and the DVD popped out.

"He is calm and collected." Mickey said when Marlowe lifted her head. "It's like he didn't doubt his intentions the entire time. Or his ability to get it done right, fast and without incident."

"Professional?" Marlowe asked, tossing the idea out there. "Hitman maybe?"

Mickey chuckled. "Even with them abusing, Ian, it hardly requires a hitman. It would be easy to take them out."

"Yeah, I know. Just thinking out loud. Plus a hitman isn't personal. He wouldn't beat them to death, he'd shoot them or something. Still gotta be someone they knew."

Mickey snatched the DVD and put it away in the evidence bag and grabbed his cup. "Time to see Jerry and get some legit answers so we can narrow this down."

"Good idea. My brain hurts already."

**

"You're home early."

Ian faked a smile as he climbed the stairs up to his apartment. Ms. Walker was outside her door, sitting on a chair she pulled outside. By her side, she had a basket of yarn and sewing needles in her hands. 

"Yes, ma'am." Ian stopped by his own door and leaned on the railing. "Had a busy day today."

After those detectives left, he had a hard time focusing on anything aside from his past. Images resurfacing, his arm started to ache from where it was broken, his ribs too. And his head had been pounding like crazy non stop. 

He even blacked out at work for nearly fifteen minutes around lunch earlier. He was sitting in the break room alone, his food spread out in front of him when his headache became unbearable. 

Ian pushed the food back and laid his head down, his eyes closed to rest them and fifteen minutes later he was being shaken awake by a colleague. His head stopped hurting and at some point he managed to eat his food because it was gone. 

That wasn't the first time a black out happened. He had them as a kid too, but hadn't had one for a really long time. It caught him by surprise, making him a little shaky. It was so bad that Nicole noticed and sent him home early. 

"Oh, yes I know." Lauren set her needles down in the basket. "I met a handsome detective this morning asking about you."

Ian smiled a real smile for once. Mickey was very handsome. It was hard not to notice, or to stare. He caught himself looking many times during the day and unless he was being paranoid, he felt Mickey looking as well.

"I'm sorry about that." Ian hid his smile for later. "I didn't mean to drag you into the middle of this. But you were the only one I talked to."

Lauren waved the apology away. "I wasn't drug into anything, Ian. He just asked when I saw you."

Ian nodded, relaxing a little more now that Mickey knew he'd been telling the truth. "Well, thank you for telling them. Did they ask anything else?"

Lauren nodded, her friendly smile slipping. "He asked what kind of neighbor you are. What kind of company you kept yourself busy with. All those detective like questions."

That wasn't a surprise. Mickey said he would be checking up on him. And he did. But he also had to ask questions like that as well. Ian understood and he had nothing to hide.

"Well, I'm sure he wasn't happy when you told him I don't keep company." Ian unlocked his door but hesitated to go in when she didn't reply with something witty. He turned and she wouldn't meet his eyes. "What's wrong?"

"I might have told him about your friend this morning." Lauren said apologetically and glanced away. "It seemed harmless enough and it wasn't like you two fought that loudly."

Ian narrowed his eyes. "Excuse me?"

Lauren frowned.

"Ms. Walker, I didn't have anyone over this morning. Or any other morning." Ian moved away from his door, closer to her. "You know I don't have people over."

Lauren nodded. "I told him that, but I did hear your voice so I thought you may have been on the phone. But when I peaked out, I saw him leaving. He slammed the door and scared me."

Ian's eyes widened this time. "That can't be possible, Ms. Walker. I didn't even get up until nearly seven this morning. I would have known if someone was in here."

She frowned again. "He left around five or so, Ian. I know you were late leaving but I saw someone leave."

Ian was panicking a little. Someone had been in his apartment? How did they get in? Why were they there? How the fuck hadn't he noticed.

"Oh dear, you don't think someone broke in do you?" Lauren asked, a hand moving to her mouth. "I only ever heard your voice but you have no idea what I'm talking about."

Ian shook his head, his hands shaking as he looked at his opened door. "No, I don't. Maybe you heard them instead? I'm sure I'd know if someone was here, wouldn't I?"

Lauren moved forward. "Maybe we need to call that nice man back? Tell him you had no idea someone was over here."

Ian nodded. That sounded like a damn good idea. "Shit, he didn't give me his number though."

Lauren perked up, holding up one finger before she slipped back into her apartment. Ian leaned against the railing, rubbing his eyes. 

This was crazy. 

"He gave me this. Asked me to call when or if I saw this man again." Lauren handed over the business card. "Do you want me to wait with you while you call?"

Ian was about to say yes until his head started to pound again. Making it eyesight shift, blurring in and out for a moment. "No, I'm okay. Just gonna let him know that I didn't have anyone over."

Lauren nodded, eyes narrowed when Ian rubbed his temples.

"I'm sure he'll show up and want to talk to you again though." Ian tucked the card into his jeans and turned away. "Thank you, Ms. Walker. I'm sorry."

Before she had time to argue or freak out, Ian stepped in and shut his door. He locked all three locks, then leaned against it until the only thing he could hear was his heart beating like crazy. 

Someone had been in his apartment when he was asleep.

"Jesus." Ian slid down to the floor and covered his eyes, blocking out the soft light that felt like he was looking into the sun. 

What was happening to him? Was this all because of them? Did his headaches return because they had been brought back into his life again? 

Ian didn't have headaches like this since he was young. Since he was still with them so it had to be connected. Stress maybe, or panic. Too many bad memories coming to the surface after burying them for so long. 

It had to be. He may not care about them dying, but his body did. It brought back all the stessers. Making him relive it each time he thought too hard.

Maybe Mickey could help. He needed to call him. Ian shifted a little until he could dig the card from his pocket. It had Mickey's full name and number under it along with the CPD stamp behind it all. 

It took longer to get his phone out, but with a little shifting and some major whining, he was able to dial. He had to try twice when his vision blurred again but he got it. It rang seven times and transferred into Mickey's voicemail.

"Detective Milkovich, this is Ian Gallagher. I need to talk to you as soon as possible. Please call me back at this number when you get a chance. Thank you."

By the time he hung up, his entire body was shaking. Ian got up, shuffled on heavy feet until he made it into his room and fell face first on the bed. 

Maybe he was just working too hard. He'd been taking more shifts at the office, staying late and getting there early when he could. Maybe it was too much. Maybe today was just too much and his head had enough. 

When Mickey got his voicemail, he would call or show up. Until then, Ian decided that he just needed to sleep. He didn't move to grab a pillow or kick off his shoes. He stayed where he was and let sleep take him.

Sleep was the only place where his head didn't hurt as much. A place where his memories couldn't get him. But where his nightmares could. 

Maybe it was time to see that doctor.

**

It took longer than it normally did for him to avoid Ian. He couldn't run the risk of being caught, not after all he did to keep him out of it.

He didn't plan on Ian going home. That was for sure. Technically he only left an hour early but still. Ian always stayed until the end, forcing him to wait to show up when Ian didn't expect it. 

His fault, he supposed. After all, he knew this would happen when he killed the Moore's. Of course people would connect the dots and lead them to Ian. 

What he didn't count on, was Ian's nosey neighbor spying on him this morning. He'd been flustered, in a hurry to get to the Moore's house, but he hadn't been that loud. Or so he thought. 

Now that nosey bitch was telling that detective about him. Dragging Ian further into it. That's why he was there now that Ian was safely inside his apartment. 

It was time to warn the old lady before she hurt his chances even more of getting away with this. Or blaming the whole thing on Ian. 

She didn't warrant her own death...yet, but any more slip-ups and he would have to get nasty. 

Make no mistake, he would easily kill her if it meant keeping Ian safe. He already proved that twice. A third time wouldn't make him lose any sleep. But then again, he could kill thousands and never bat an eye as long as Ian was safe. 

He loved Ian. Ian was his. And Ian would be happy if he had to kill every single person in the way of his happily ever after with Ian. 

And if Ian did know what he was doing; fat chance, but IF he knew, fuck. Ian would thank him after the shock wore off. He would be able to see his reasoning. 

It was hard for him not to let Ian know about it. If he knew, it would be so much easier for them. For him. Ian wouldn't be lonely anymore. He would finally have Ian; sweet, soft, caring Ian with him, loving him. Thanking him for taking care of those bad people.

Even now, he struggled to just tell him. To wake Ian up and force him to acknowledge him. But now was not the time. Not yet. Soon, very, very soon. 

At the moment, he had more business to take care of.

With a glance in both directions, his hood pulled down low on his face, he reached up to slowly unscrew the light bulb above her door. Shadow fell around him like a warm blanket. 

Just as he had to protect Ian, he had to protect himself as well. 

On a whim, he tried the door knob. Locked. If it had been unlocked, he'd have been disappointed. Although he tried not to like this so much, it was hard to say he hated it. It would be a lie and he never lied.

He liked being the bad guy. He liked hurting the people who deserved it. Be they abusive parents or nosey bitches next door, he loved scaring them. Hurting them. 

But keeping Ian safe was his drug. It got him so high he never wanted to come down. It got him hard, aching with the need to be touched, to be rewarded for his hard work. 

That would surely come later. 

For now, he knocked on the door loudly, hard enough to shake the frame and heard her gasp inside. The sound sent a chill up his spine.

"Who's there?"

He simply knocked again, louder this time. Ensuring she wouldn't open it. He wanted her scared, not dead. Not yet. He beat as hard as he could. Then wiggled the door knob. Kicking at the bottom of the door.

"Who's there?" She asked again, her voice shaky. 

"Don't remember me?" He growled until she let out a sharp gasp. "You seemed to tell that nice cop all he needed to know."

She whimpered.

"Consider this a warning." He waited a moment to build suspense. Knowing she would get closer. "You better keep that trap shut about me, and my Ian or I will do more than bang on this door."

He could hear her crying from inside.

When she didn't speak, he beat on the door more. Harder. Pounding until his wrist hurt and his heart beat wildly. Until he was hard in his jeans, dying to get thanked for his efforts. 

Maybe after he would find someone to thank him properly. 

"This is my only warning." He growled so deeply his voice became distorted. "If this lands on Ian, you are dead."

When her crying got worse, he knew it was time to go. She would wait for him to leave, wait until that shock wore off, then she would call that detective. 

Maybe then everyone would understand that Ian was innocent. 

He wanted to stay longer. He really did. His visits were few and far between because it was so dangerous. With a last look at Ian's door, he closed his eyes and left. Going far from their apartments, far from Ian and all that softness. 

But he would be back. He always came back.

**

Mickey sometimes hated the fact that their prescient hired Jerry as their coroner. It wasn't because the man wasn't brilliant, because he was. But he was fucking weird. He was weird in a weird way, in an uncomfortable, no personal space way. 

And he liked to talk. And talk and talk and talk. Jerry could talk your ears off.

"Jerry!!" Mickey yelled, making it echo inside the sanitized space. 

Jerry stopped halfway into explaining his process on which item from evidence to test first and why. But there was no time for that and sometimes Jerry needed to be yelled at to get his ass back on track. 

"Sorry, I'm sorry." Jerry held his gloved hand up. "You know me."

Mickey smiled while Marlowe glared. "Yeah man, we do. And most of the time I have time to talk it out with you. But not this time."

Jerry nodded. "Yes, I know. So, back to quick business. My reports will of course have the full explanation."

Marlowe sighed. "Thank you." She whispered to Mickey.

"Okay, so whatcha got for us this time?" Mickey asked. Before Jerry could explain, his phone buzzed in his jeans. He grabbed it but didn't know the number and let it drop into his voicemail. 

"Okay, so I have a bunch to tell you. But since I over share and get easily excited, maybe you should start asking me what you need to know."

Mickey nodded. "Okay, we need to know cause of death above all else." He looked to Marlowe who nodded, agreeing with him. 

Jerry nodded with a smile. "Okay, I know the wounds look absolutely brutal," he shivered. "But, there were no weapons used."

Mickey's eyebrows rose. As did Marlowe's. "Hand to hand?" Jerry nodded. "Jesus, that's some serious damage."

"Yes. Whoever did this is incredibly strong. He, and yes it is a he because a woman doesn't have the strength for this."

Marlowe scoffed. 

"I apologize, my dear," Jerry held his hands together as if praying for her forgiveness. "Women are incredibly strong. But not this time. This time we are dealing with a man."

Mickey smiled when Marlowe offered Jerry a smile. "Okay. So, a man with incredible strength, with anger behind him."

Jerry nodded. "Yes. He didn't kick them when they were down. Just used his hands until they both bled to death."

Fuck, that was brutal.

"From the security camera, we know it was a man. He had no weapon when he entered but we thought maybe he used something inside." Marlowe added, making Jerry smile.

"I have taken pictures of them both, their wounds and just about every item in or around that house. I cleaned the wounds, most of the hits are towards the faces, and there are no blunt force trauma marks from anything but fists."

Mickey moved over to the large white board off to the side, far away from both bodies as they lay under stained white sheets. The pictures were spread out, letting him see how it looked when they arrived, how it looked when the wounds were as clean as possible, and when Jerry took close ups. 

He had seen his fair share of awful crime scenes and blunt wounds, but this was bad. Their faces were nearly caved in from the amount of times he hit them. Jim Moore's face looked like nothing but raw hamburger meat. 

Jerry was right though. Even under all that mangled flesh, he didn't once see the edge of any weapon. Just grooves in a few areas of skin, from knuckles forced together when a fist was made. 

"Fists." Mickey repeated as he turned back to them. "No rings or anything. But I see knuckles."

Jerry nodded. "As I said, brutal strength."

"Can you us which of them died first?" Mickey asked next, his stomach turning in knots after looking at those images. "I get that he is strong, but there were no signs that either of them left the living room and no signs that one of them called for help if one was ambushed first while the other was next to them."

"Right you are, Mickey." Jerry moved around his lab, sorting through the papers. "Now, from the positioning of the bodies, which were not moved after death, he entered the front door and encountered Jim Moore first."

Mickey took the photo when Marlowe handed it off to him. 

"My guess is, he disabled Jim Moore first, probably with a heavy blow to his head." Jerry pointed to the next body. "The scuffle drew the attention of the wife, Sarah Moore. She came in from the kitchen before he took her down, too."

Mickey shook his head. It was both skilled and impressive. Something he never liked to reward a killer with. 

"Makes sense to take the bigger threat out first." Mickey spoke up and handed Jerry back the photo. "Then he was quick enough to take her out before she could leave the room, and scream for help."

Jerry clapped, impressed. "Yes, detective. Now, most of the damage was to their faces, yes, but Jim Moore had significantly less damage than his wife."

Marlowe frowned. "I didn't expect that honestly."

"Yes, myself as well. But Sarah Moore took more hits than her husband and the damage to her face was far worse. He simply encountered the husband first, took him down to get to the wife."

"Okay, so the wife bleeds out first, then he moved to her husband?" Mickey asked.

"Yes. She died from major blood loss, probably within minutes but I'm sure she didn't feel half of it. The damage probably left her brain dead or paralyzed before her actual death."

Marlowe rubbed her face. "I guess that is a blessing."

Mickey nodded. "Jim Moore the same?"

"Yes. And even though he received less damage and died after, his attack was just as brutal as hers. Only he felt more pain because he was last to die."

No wonder there was blood splattered up the walls. Each time the killed drew his arm back for another hit, blood was slung onto the wall or the carpet. 

"What about the other evidence?" Mickey asked, motioning to the other autopsy table stacked with evidence. "Anything aside from the blood on the ceiling?"

"Well, that blood was from the wife. Obviously done after they were dead or both were incapacitated at the moment."

"Anything else in the house?" Marlowe asked.

"Not much. We collected the basics, DNA from both, hair samples from both, fingerprints, dental impressions." Jerry rattled on. "We scraped their fingernails, looked for foreign prints and hairs and blood."

No wonder there were a lot of bags.

"All the blood is theirs. Not a drop from your killer. No prints either, so he probably wore gloves the entire time."

Mickey groaned, his headache worsening. "He did. Tape showed him gloved when he entered and when he left."

"Did either of them grab him?" Marlowe asked. "Get some DNA under their nails?"

Jerry shook his head. "No on that as well. This guy was very efficient. The only thing we got from him was half of a shoe print in blood."

Mickey's eyebrows raised at that. He took the photo when Jerry handed it to him. "Back half of the shoe, leading to the door so he stepped in it on his way out."

Marlowe stood, moving to stand next to him. "Big shoe, size fifteen. Maybe we can see what type of boot? Try and see if we can match them with anyone later."

Anyone meaning Ian.

"I can run a search online. It might take awhile since it's only the back half." Jerry suggested. 

"Anything will help." Mickey squeezed his shoulder. "Hey, is there any way you can get something about our guy off the camera?"

Marlowe glanced over. "Like height and weight?"

Mickey nodded. "Yeah. We got no prints, no face, no DNA. But maybe we can get a rough outline of who we are looking for."

"The neighbor said he was tall. I guess it wouldn't hurt to get the exact build."

Jerry shrugged. "Also worth a try. If you have the footage I can run my software over it. See what I can gather."

Marlowe moved to the files and grabbed the DVD. She handed it over. "Thanks Jerry."

Jerry beamed. "Those should be done as soon as the autopsy is finished, the toxicity reports too. Did them both just to see if he might have used a sedative of some sort to help over power them."

"Thanks man," Mickey moved with Marlowe to grab their coats and the files. "Call as soon as you know anything and I'll bring you coffee. Deal?"

Jerry laughed. "Deal."

Marlowe laughed as they walked out of the lab and towards the elevator. "You are too nice to him."

Mickey grinned. "Which is why he calls me with details and reports and not you."

Marlowe's smile slipped.

By the time they reached their desks, Mickey's phone buzzed again. He reached in just in time for it to stop.

"You sure are popular today."

Mickey checked the call log. Those calls were from different numbers and nearly half an hour apart. Caller one left a voicemail.

"I didn't know the number." Mickey shrugged as he entered his password. It took him by surprise when Ian's voice was in his ear.

"Detective Milkovich, this is Ian Gallagher. I need to talk to you as soon as possible. Please call me back at this number when you get a chance. Thank you."

Ian sounded scared, freaked out. 

"Shit." Mickey cursed and quickly dialed Ian's number and put it to his ear as Marlowe waved at him. "First one was Ian. He talked to his neighbor about me coming by and he had no clue about the unknown male she mentioned."

The phone rang and rang.

"Shit. Does he think someone broke in while he was there?" Marlowe asked, on edge.

"Hey, this is Ian. Leave a message."

"Fuckin voicemail." Mickey whispered quickly before the feel. "Hey Ian, it's Detective Milkovich. Call me as soon as you get this." He hung up and took a deep breath. "He sounded freaked the fuck out at the possibility of someone being in there."

"Maybe we should do a drive by. Just to make sure."

Mickey nodded. They were walking to his car when his phone rang again. It wasn't Ian's number but the other one. 

"Hello?" He answered, sounding a little winded.

"Is this Detective Milkovich?" 

Mickey stopped at the official sounding voice. "Yes, who is this?"

"Sir, this is officer Michael's. I got your number from a Ms. Lauren Walker. We got a call from her about ten minutes ago. Someone was beating on her door, muttering threats."

His eyes widened. Their unknown male?

"Shit. Is she okay?" Mickey asked, getting into the car as Marlowe narrowed her eyes.

"She is shaken. Kept saying your name and we found your number. She also said her neighbor Ian Gallagher tried your cell earlier but you didn't answer."

"Yeah, I was just on my way there when you called. Have you spoken to Mister Gallagher yet?" Mickey started his car, not bothering with his seatbelt as he peeled out of the parking lot. 

"No, not yet. We have been knocking on his door but he either seems to be asleep or he isn't home."

"Mick, what's going on?" Marlowe asked, growing agitated.

Mickey held the phone away from his mouth. "Ian's neighbor had a run in with our unknown male. He was beating on her door, threatening her. She had them call me and now Ian won't answer the door."

Her eyes widened. "Have them break the lock or call management. The guy could be hiding in there or holding Ian inside."

Mickey made the last turn. "Break the damn door down if you have to. I'm almost there." He hung up, needing both hands to turn and made them both slide against the seat. "Fuck. Only a few more minutes." 

Marlowe turned on the siren. "Drive faster."


	4. In the Past

Beneath the Surface  
Chapter 4- In the Past

By the time Mickey pulled into Ian's complex, it was pitch black outside. He swerved as he drove to Ian's apartment, avoiding cars and people crowded together trying to get a look see.

Marlowe was hanging out the open window, shouting at people to get the fuck out of the way. His heart was hammering in his chest as they inched closer, wondering if Ian was okay or if their unknown guy was inside.

Or if the worse had happened and Ian was dead.

Finally, he was able to park beside two local cop cars, their blue and white lights flashing, lighting up the stairwell. Mickey flung his door open, put his hand on the butt of his gun and took the stairs two at a time as Marlowe ran behind him Flashing her badge. 

"Ian Gallagher!!"

Mickey was panting as he pushed through the wall of officers, headed towards the voice he heard on the phone. The officer nodded at him, just now getting ready to bust the door down.

"He hasn't answered?" Mickey asked, his voice shot. 

Office Michael's shook his head. "Heard no movement inside so my guess is empty. But the lady assured me he was in there when she spoke with him half an hour ago."

Mickey scanned the crowd until his eyes landed on Marlowe. "After we find him, we split." She nodded, gun drawn. "Take the lady, I'll get Ian."

When Marlowe nodded agin, Mickey turned back to the door, nodding to officer Michael's. The officer next to him had a battering ram and with one look, he aimed it at the door and it hit so hard Mickey felt his back teeth rattle.

The door busted open on its hinges. Michael's was the first one in. Mickey followed, scanning the dark apartment as he went. It seemed quiet, no signs of Ian or their unknown male. 

But he had that bad feeling again.

"Ian!" Mickey yelled out as he moved down the hallway. "Ian, it's Mickey. You in there?" He hears soft groans coming from the other side of the door. "Kid, I'm comin in." 

Without waiting for a reply, Mickey kicked the door just left of the knob and it opened hard enough to smack back against the wall. Mickey saw Ian in bed, sprawled on his stomach and it seemed like he was coming out of a deep sleep.

"Got him!" Mickey yelled and holstered his weapon. "He's alone." He added, just so that wall of officers didn't blast down the doorway after him.

Ian was wearing the same clothes Mickey saw him in at work, his shoes were still on. And there was a cellphone in his hand that slipped to the bed as soon as Ian lifted his head, slowly coming awake. 

"Ian?" Mickey moved slowly, voice calm even when he was panting heavily. 

"Mickey?" Ian asked, his voice rough. He cleared it, blinking quickly to clear the sleep away and sat up. "Why are you here?"

Ian didn't look like he was in distress of any kind, except confusion. Mickey noted how tired he looked, dark bags under his eyes. A dark contrast compared to his light skin tone. But he seemed normal

"We've had officers trying your door for the last ten minutes." Mickey explained as Ian stood, a little wobbly and it seemed as if he was still clearing sleep fog from his mind. "Your neighbor had a run in with the same guy she saw, the one who was leaving your apartment."

Green eyes widened. "I told her I never had anyone here. I wasn't even awake. That's why I tried to call you." He leaned down and snatched the phone and noticed he too had a missed call and a voicemail. "This you?"

Mickey nodded. "I was workin the case and couldn't answer. When you didn't answer I was on my way over when the cops called me." He could hear muffled talking behind him. "He scared your neighbor and I was afraid he might have gotten in here."

"Fuck." Ian paled, breathing fast. "Is she okay? Did she get hurt?"

Mickey shook his head. "No, he just scared her is all. Didn't even try and get past the door."

Ian was freaked. Mickey could see how wide his eyes were, threatening to split his eyelids. He was shaking, panting, just freaked the fuck out. And it was understandable. Someone was targeting him.

"Why is this happening?" Ian asked, panicked. "Why did he threaten her?"

Mickey didn't get the details about what all was said yet, but he had a good feeling it was because she spoke to him about Ian. Whoever this guy was, he was locked onto Ian somehow.

"I'm pretty sure he went after her because she talked to me." Mickey explained easily but Ian seemed to be having trouble following along. He began to pace. "Whoever this guy is, he doesn't want her talking about him. Even when she didn't see anything."

"She has nothing to do with any of this, Mickey." Ian nearly shouted, running his hands into his hair. He winced, feeling a bruise under the surface of his palm. "I have nothing to do with this."

"Mickey?"

At the sound of Marlowe's voice, Mickey turned to see her standing at the door.

"You got this?"

Mickey nodded. "They check the rest of the house?"

"Every closet. Didn't find anyone except Ian."

He exhaled, relaxing just a little. "Headed to talk to Ms. Walker?"

Marlowe nodded. "Meet me outside when you're done."

"Why would someone be in here?" Ian asked when she was gone.

"Because your neighbor didn't know where that guy went and she couldn't get you to open the door." Mickey explained as he walked around a little, he had far too much energy to stay still. "She called the cops and they called me thinking he might have been in here."

"I fell asleep after I called you." Ian crossed his arms, standing in front of Mickey. "The shit she told me freaked me out. I got a headache and fell asleep."

"So, you had no idea someone was here this morning?" Mickey asked, even when it was clear from Ian's behavior that he was afraid and didn't know. "Maybe you heard a door slam?"

Ian shivered, feeling cold. Afraid. "No. I didn't hear anything. But I've always been a hard sleeper and my meds probably don't help."

Mickey narrowed his eyes. "Meds for the headaches or to help you sleep?"

"I was thinking of taking one for the headaches. The medicine I'm taking is a low dose sleeping pill." Ian moved to his side table and grabbed the bottle. "I took one last night because I couldn't sleep."

Mickey took the bottle. Ian's information was on it. Followed by the medicine name and dosage and doctors phone number. He memorized both. "Did you take one when you got off?"

"No, I didn't even mean to fall asleep." Ian took the bottle back and returned it beside his bed. "Do I need to leave? Stay in a hotel?"

That wasn't a bad idea. Ian was clearly not safe here, his nice neighbor either. Not if whoever this guy was, knew so much about them and when he spoke to Ms. Walker. It meant he was lurking, possibly stalking Ian to keep tabs on him.

"That might be a good idea. At least until we know what this guys endgame is." 

Ian's eyes widened. "That could be days, weeks even. I can't afford a hotel for more than a night or two."

"Maybe you can come to the precinct with us?" Mickey offered, even when that had to be less desirable than a hotel. Not to mention he probably wasn't allowed to bring former suspects, turned victim, to work with him. "Would you be okay with that?"

Ian opened his mouth for a moment before he closed it, thinking. "I guess it wouldn't hurt but again, I can't stay long. I still have work."

"Ian, someone could be after you." Mickey argued, growing more agitated the longer they stayed and talked it out. "At least come down there while we talk or argue it all out."

Ian nodded. "I can't promise I'll stay but I'll come with you." He looked around at his things, at his apartment, suddenly feeling alone. "I wish this hadn't happened to me."

His voice was so soft, scared. Mickey lost some of his irritation and reached out. It wasn't a lot, just his hand lightly gripping Ian's arm, but it was affection all the same. 

Mickey wasn't even sure he knew where it came from. But it seemed to help because Ian glanced down at him, a smile hidden under the worry lines. 

"I don't know why this is happening to you, Ian. If I had any idea, I would tell you." Mickey's voice was soft, like he was consoling a grieving family. "And you might not believe it, but I'm trying my best to help."

Ian tilted his arm until his palm rested against Mickey's, returning the comforting gesture. "I believe you, Mickey. I really do. But I'm smart enough to know that you can't be with me the entire time."

Mickey's shoulders caved. "No, but I can be now, you'll be safe, at least for the night and I can try and make sense of what's going on."

"I can't even make sense of it."

"I know," Mickey squeezed his arm lightly. "That's why if we are going to figure this shit out, you are gonna have to be honest with me." 

Ian looked away. 

"About all of it." Mickey added, knowing Ian knew what he meant. "We can't get anywhere on hidden information. You can tell me and however bad it was, trust me, I've heard worse."

Ian closed in, his body hunching around their linked arms. Mickey now felt taller than Ian, bigger. This way, all caved in on himself, he seemed so much smaller. 

That was the fear. Ian had yet to escape it all. 

"Please." Mickey whispered, making Ian meet his eyes. "Just let me help."

"Okay." Ian whispered, giving in. No more arguments, or talk about work. Just agreeing to that sad, worried tone. "Can Ms. Walker come, too? She doesn't have any family close."

Mickey smiled and his heart pounded a little faster. "Yes. She can come. I'm pretty sure she is way too freaked out to stay here alone."

"Yeah, that makes two of us." Ian smiled and stepped back to pick up his jacket on the end of the bed. "I already feel like shit because she's getting pulled into it."

"Trust me, Ian, she doesn't feel like that. She's just worried about you." Mickey headed for the door with Ian following him.

The hoard of officers were gone, save for one posted at the door. And Ian's apartment was a mess. All the doors open, every light on. Even a few items got knocked over. Not to mention the splintered door propped up on the side of the wall.

"I hope they pay for that shit." Ian said bluntly as he shut doors and clicked off lights. "I sure as fuck can't afford a door and I'm sure management won't understand."

Mickey smirked. "I'm sure it'll be fixed and fully paid for by the time you come back." He patted the officers shoulder as he walked by. "And I'm leaving someone here, just in case."

When Ian stepped out, Mickey nearly got mowed down by Ms. Walker. She checked his shoulder as she pushed her way to Ian. Ian was smiling as she held his face, crying and saying how sorry she was. 

Ian let her fuss over him. He let her grab his face, shaking him a little as she cried. Just because she seemed to need it. "Ms. Walker, I promise I am okay."

Mickey smiled. 

"Don't you scare me like that again." Lauren let him go as she fixed her own clothes. 

"I never meant to make you worry. But while we're at it, don't you make me worry." He repeated the words and watched the emotions cross her face. "Promise you'll stay somewhere else while they figure this out."

Lauren nodded, wiping her face. "I am going with you and them for now, but my son is on his way."

Mickey was amazed by how much that helped Ian relax. Especially because aside from being a nice neighbor, they probably didn't know each other that well. Not well enough to be so worried. 

"Good, I'm glad." Ian smiled and pulled her in for a hug. He caught Mickey's eyes, seeing the smile in them. "Did you need anything else before we go?"

Lauren nodded and pulled back. "I need to get my purse."

Ian let her go so she could go back inside. Then he met Mickey's eyes. "Something amusing?"

Mickey shook his head. "Not at all. I've just never seen someone relax so much from a simple hug."

"Living alone is hard. We find comfort when we can." Ian nodded to her apartment. "Even when that comfort comes from somewhere unexpected."

"Yeah, living alone sucks." Mickey smiled, letting Ian know he knew how awful it was. "I'm glad she has you though."

Before he could say anything else embarrassing, Ms. Walker came back out, bag in hand. She moved passed him again and Mickey grinned when Ian cocked his elbow out, offering it to her. 

"I told you he was a sweet boy." Lauren said to the detective.

Mickey chuckled as they slowly took the stairs down. "Yes, you did."

**

Two hours later had Mickey feeling like death. Unlike Ian who had a restful nap, he was still running on two hours of sleep in a 48 hour period. 

Not even coffee could help. 

"They can't stay there."

Mickey heard the words. He just didn't comment because popping off at his boss wasn't the smartest idea. Not even when they spoke through the phone. It would just get him taken off the case or some serious time at home with no pay.

"What am I supposed to do?" Mickey asked, rubbing both temples. "I have a scared kid, who's being stalked by the same guy who offed his adoptive parents."

"You don't know that he is being stalked." His boss argued back.

Mickey scoffed. "Yes, I do. Did you read the statement I emailed you from his neighbor?" He didn't wait for him to confirm it. "She was targeted because she spoke about Ian Gallagher. I had a ten minute conversation with her and this guy freaked out."

By this point, Mickey had already taken both their statements from the events at their apartment. He got it word for word, making sure that their stories lined up with their timeline.

Ms. Walker was picked up by her son nearly an hour ago and Mickey only released her after they got all the sons information and his phone number. At least she would be safe, if she stayed away from Ian. 

But Ian? He had no one. Not to mention his door was caved in and he was somehow tied to this killer, even when Ian didn't know who it was or why it was happening. He couldn't just send him back home and hope to god nothing happened. 

"Has he threatened Gallagher?" His boss asked.

"No, but I really don't want to give him the chance." Mickey got up from the table in the break room and started to pace. "He has no other family, can't afford to stay shacked up in a hotel and can't go home. What else am I supposed to do?"

"Mickey?"

Mickey glanced back to see Ian poking his head into the break room. "You okay?" He asked, tilting the phone away from his mouth while his boss spoke in his ear. 

"Mind if I get some coffee?" Ian asked as he yawned. "I'm kinda falling asleep."

"Yeah, sure." Mickey moved out of the way and left Ian to it while he waited for his boss to run out of steam.

"Are you listening, Milkovich?"

"Yes." He lied. He saw Ian smile, knowing he distracted him.

"I said put him in a hotel for as long as we need to. The city will float the bill for now. I can't have a dead kid on my hands because the major wants to get stingy with the budget."

Mickey relaxed, much like Ian did when his neighbor hugged him. "Thank you, sir. I'll let you know when I get any information."

The call ended, letting his boss go back to bed and it left him and Ian in the same position they had been. Stuck at the precinct until he could get Ian to a hotel. Soon too because Ian wasn't the only one falling asleep. 

"Back home then?" Ian asked as he leaned against the counter, holding the hot cup with both hands. 

Mickey slipped his phone into his pocket and poured his own cup. "No, a hotel. I had an officer put together a bag of your clothes just in case. Meds too and the briefcase by the door."

Ian narrowed his eyes.

"The city will float the bill for a hotel." Mickey said, then groaned when he took a drink, feeling the caffeine do its job enough to allow him to function. "At least until we can make sure you're not on this guy's list for next victims."

"Oh, wow." Ian set his cup down. "I didn't think they did that sort of thing."

"They don't. The most they normally do is put high profile witnesses in safe houses but that's normally only if a death threat has been issued or until a court date is set."

Mickey set his cup down and nodded towards his desk. Ian followed quietly. The rest of the place was deserted, only a few others occupied their desks, neck deep in paperwork. 

"But not this time. I'm worried because whoever this was, went to extreme measures to threaten your neighbor for telling me nothing." Mickey grabbed his jacket, then the gun from his desk. "She didn't even get a good look at him and he freaked out."

Ian huddled into himself, even with his jacket on. "At least she's out of this."

Mickey smiled. "Yeah, she is. Now we gotta get you out of it." His hand hovered at the small of Ian's back, like he was going to guide him outside. Something he never did. "Come on, it's late." Mickey dropped his hand, clearly aware that Ian noticed and walked out of the building. 

"Will I be able to go to work?" Ian asked as he got into Mickey's car. He shivered as Mickey got in and turned the heat up. "I can't stop living my life because of this."

Mickey pulled out onto the dark road, his eyes automatically searching for any cars following too closely. For now it was just them and he relaxed into the seat.

"Yes, you can go to work." Mickey glanced over in time to see Ian's grateful smile. "But you need to keep a look out for anyone who might be following you. Or anyone too interested in your life."

Ian sank deeper into his chair, exhaustion creeping into him. "Mickey, I don't have anyone interested like that. No one cares."

It was said with so much conviction that Mickey actually believed Ian thought no one cared. It was very sad. Someone had to care what happened to Ian, right? There had to be at least one person who liked him enough to give a shit about his life. 

"Ian, someone cares." Mickey stopped at a red light, even when the three other streets were empty. "This guy is someone very close to you. He knows you, he cares about you."

Ian looked over. "I swear I don't know who it is. I literally don't see anyone, Mickey. Not at work, not on my personal time. It's just me. So, if he knows me, I don't know him."

The light turned green and Mickey drove forward. Lights behind him caught his eyes, drawing them to his mirrors to scope the car. It was nothing special, just a silver Honda, an older model. No tinted windows or any damage, but it was behind them. Mickey automatically assumed it could be Ian's stalker.

"What's wrong?" Ian asked, his voice unsure. 

Mickey turned right, even when he wasn't supposed to just to see if the car followed. It did.

"We might have someone following us." Mickey said calmly and did his best to drive like he normally would, not glancing at the mirrors too often or it would give them away. "Don't look."

Ian paused, he was seconds away from looking. "Are you sure?"

Mickey turned his blinker on to go left and sure enough, the Honda did also. "I'm pretty sure because each time I turn, it turns."

Ian casually glanced back to see a car following closely. "Would he really be that bold?"

Mickey stopped at the stop sign, pausing a moment before he slowly took off. The car did the same, following. "He might be if he was scared enough. He seems to want to keep you as close as possible."

"Maybe you should stop and see who it is?" Ian asked.

"No, that's too dangerous. Maybe if I knew more about him and his behavior." Mickey made the final turn. "For all I know, I walk up to his window and eat a bullet."

Ian gasped.

When Mickey turned into an empty parking lot, his hand already on his phone to call back up, the car didn't follow. It kept going until it was out of sight. Mickey took a deep breath, relaxing as much as he could.

"God, that scared me." Ian put his head in his hands. 

"Yeah, me too." Mickey pulled out of the empty lot and across the street into the heavily packed hotel parking lot. "I'm pretty sure that wasn't him or he would have stayed with us."

Ian was silent as he turned off the car. Leaving them in darkened silence. Mickey risked a glance over to see Ian rubbing his head again. He seemed to do that a lot. 

"How bad are the headaches?" Mickey asked quietly. Ian glanced at him. "Only if you don't mind me asking."

"Pretty bad." Ian whispered back, forcing his hands down away from his face. "Worse than migraines and nothing seems to make them go away aside from sleep."

"Do you get them often?"

Ian shook his head. "I didn't use to. Only a few every so often when I was a kid. Then they stopped until recently."

Mickey wondered if they were connected to what he endured under the hands of the Moore family. Or maybe the headaches were a direct result from the abuse. 

"How recently?" Mickey asked, wondering if Ian would tell him the truth or when he would shut him down for being too nosy.

"Within a week." Ian looked over, his eyes pounding. "It seems to only happen during stress or when I'm upset."

That made sense. Lately Ian was under an intense amount of stress and he had been upset a number of times since this started. 

"Or when you're afraid?" Mickey asked.

Ian nodded. "Yes, then too."

Probably a combination of all three. 

Mickey thought about waiting until he got Ian a room for all these questions but he had a feeling as soon as Ian was near a bed, the conversation would end rather quickly. 

"But you said sleep helps, right?"

"Yeah, it seems to be the only thing that does." Ian turned away from that worried look and stared out the window instead. "I sleep like the dead, as you saw earlier."

Mickey chuckled.

"But I never seem rested." Ian added quickly. "I could sleep for eight solid hours and wake up feeling just as tired as I had been."

"Maybe you sleep so hard that you don't actually rest?" Mickey asked, throwing out the idea. "You need to dream in order to rest. Without it, you just kinda fall into a black hole and wake up feeling as you did before."

Ian narrowed his eyes. "Have a lot of experience with dreams, doctor Milkovich?"

Mickey laughed. "The name has a good ring to it. But no, more like experience with no sleep."

Ian nodded. "I'm not sure if I dream. It feels like it. Sometimes it feels as if I didn't even go to sleep."

"How do you mean?"

"Like I can see myself walking around when I'm supposed to be asleep." Ian tried to explain, even when he couldn't make sense of anything. "I wake up and my body hurts. Like my hands ache and my shoulders."

Mickey glanced at his hands, noticing the slight bruising even in the dark. 

"Sometimes I wake up with scratches or nail marks." Ian rubbed one of his aching shoulders. "Even woke up to a bite mark before."

Mickey's eyebrows rose. "Like from a fight and someone bit you or from rough sex?"

Ian had no idea how he asked that with a straight face. He blushed, squirming because of the personal question. "I can't really say for sure because obviously it happened in a different way. I hadn't been fighting and there was no sex. It simply woke up and it was there."

This only added to the weirdness of it all. Headaches, time gaps, weird dream states, or lack of dreams. 

"Maybe you sleepwalk." Mickey suggested seriously. "That might account for the exhaustion and sore muscles. You're asleep but your body is up and moving around."

"I hadn't thought of that." Ian bit his lip. "That makes more sense than anything else I can come up with. But surely I would wake up before any serious damage had been done."

Mickey shook his head. "I've seen a couple of cases that involved sleepwalking. It affects everyone in a different way." He turned in his seat. "Some people simply just move around their house but some drive cars and go to work or the store. I've even seen someone kill someone when they were asleep."

Ian's eyes widened. "Wouldn't I know?"

Mickey shrugged. "Not always. I'm not an expert, just an idea from some shit I've seen. Some people do. Some don't. Others it may seem like a dream, which kinda sounds like what you're describing."

"That's a little freaky." Ian shivered and it had nothing to do with the cold. "I don't like the idea of being out of control of my body like that."

"Yeah, that would make two of us." Mickey smiled sadly. "I know you mentioned seeing a doctor for the headaches." Ian nodded. "Maybe you can bring it up to him? See what he thinks?"

"I might just do that." Ian smiled shyly. "Thank you for not thinking I'm insane."

"You don't seem insane,Ian." Mickey noticed the dark bags under his eyes. "Just tired." When Ian yawned, Mickey knew their talk was over for now. "Come on, let's get you a room."

Mickey scanned the parking lot as Ian grabbed his bag from the trunk. He kept an eye out for everyone but he was looking for any sign of that silver Honda. 

Although the parking lot was full, at nearing one in the morning, the lobby was deserted. And it was larger than he expected. The hotel itself was at least five stories tall, not totally expensive but anything with two stories or less attracted shadier people than he wanted around Ian. 

Mickey walked in first with Ian shuffling tiredly behind him. The lobby consisted of a well lit and furnished sitting room. Couches and tables, a t.v. mounted on the wall. They even had a small breakfast area in one corner and signs for a pool and computer area posted on the wall.

The only other person inside was a bored looking woman at the front desk.

"Can I help you?" She asked, eyeing both of them.

Mickey nodded as he walked up to the counter. "Need a room. For now just for a few nights. Might need more later on."

She glanced over them again. "One bed, or two?"

Mickey sighed. If he said two, it would cost more and he had no intention of staying to use the other bed. But if he said one, she would automatically assume they were there to fuck.

Great.

"Just one, please." Mickey held her eyes even when she smiled like he knew she would. "Just put it under Mickey Milkovich." He slid his card across to her. 

"I thought you said the city would pay for it?" Ian asked, a little uncomfortable with Mickey paying for it personally.

When she slid the receipt over, he signed it quickly and took his card back. "They will. I just need to show them the receipt and they'll refund it as soon as possible."

The woman held out two keys with a smile. "Enjoy."

Mickey yanked the keys away, glaring as they made their way down the hall. He could feel her eyes on them until they were out of sight. 

"Shit. Guess you're on the lower level." Mickey glanced at the key and it read room 107. "I might have to change it."

Ian frowned, shifting his bag to the other shoulder. "Why? I'm good with the lower level."

Mickey stopped at the door. Across from it, there were about three or four windows stretched a few feet apart. The emergency exit down the hall didn't comfort him very much either. Those normally didn't have security cameras. Which meant anyone could come or go without being seen.

"Because, it's easy for someone to come in unnoticed." Mickey opened the door and let Ian go in first before he shut it and locked it. "Elevators have cameras and a better chance of someone seeing them."

Ian set his bag down on the large bed in the center of the room. "How would he know I'm here though? Or what room?"

"Because he could be following and we won't know unless he makes another move." Mickey sat down at the small table by the window. He set the key down and slid the blinds closed. "And by then it could be too late."

"It doesn't sound like I'm any safer here than I was at my place." Ian sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. "At least at home I have people around me I know."

"Ian, I know this is hard to understand, but you're safer here." Mickey tried to keep his voice at a reasonable level. "I know it sucks to be away from home but I'd rather not see you how I see everyone else."

Ian looked up. "I know. I'm sorry."

Mickey got up and moved to sit on the bed a few feet away from Ian. "You don't have anything to be sorry for. And if it was me in your place, I wouldn't want to stay here either. I'd probably be a pain in the ass and stay at home."

Ian smiled. 

Mickey smiled back, but it was brief. "And it would probably be a mistake. And I wouldn't know it until there was nothing I could do about it."

Ian's smile slipped. "It would be easier if I knew what this guy wanted from me. Is there anything you can tell me?"

There was a shit load he could tell Ian. He could break protocol and tell him what evidence they found or what they didn't find. He could tell Ian his thoughts on who this was or why it was happening, but he wasn't sure it would be much of a comfort. 

"I can't give out details, but I can tell you we don't know very much." Mickey rubbed the back of his neck, feeling his muscles tighten from stress and lack of sleep. "It just happened this morning, which means we haven't even had time to sort through all the evidence yet. Or make any reasonable conclusions."

Ian nodded.

"Normally shit like this, threats and such, it doesn't happen this soon. It normally happens when we get close to the end, to finding them." 

"What can you tell me?" Ian's voice was soft, his emotions were trying to take over. 

Mickey wanted to reach out, to console him in ways he wasn't familiar with. Even when he had to break the news to other families, Mickey wasn't very good at comforting them. Or handling their emotions. But with Ian, he wanted to try and he had no idea how or what to do.

"I can tell you that this man is angry." Mickey whispered. "He knows what they did to you, and for some reason, he picked now to hurt them for it."

"But that was years ago." Ian shook his head. "I was away from them. Far away. They couldn't hurt me anymore. I'm pretty sure they didn't know where I was, or where I lived and worked."

Mickey turned to face him. "What did they do?" 

Ian was quiet for a long time and Mickey was certain he wouldn't answer. He didn't blame Ian. He didn't like to dig up shit from his past either. But unlike Ian's, his past didn't come up to bite him in the ass like this. 

"When they adopted me, I thought I was lucky. They were so nice. They picked me over all the kids there." Ian smiled sadly. "When people adopt, they want babies. Older kids always have issues but when they are young enough, it's easier."

Mickey nodded, listening as hard as he possibly could. 

"They both wore nice clothes and had a nice car. She even brought this cute little bear stuffed animal when they came to see me." Ian wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket. "They told me I was their son and that we would be happy."

"When did it change?"

"Not until after they adopted me. It takes a while for it to go through, they want the kids to see a doctor and school depending on how old you are. They check in, just to make sure there were no issues."

Mickey had to clear his throat before he spoke. "So, for two years it was good?"

Ian nodded. "I got my own room, I got food whenever I wanted it. Toys too. I had never been happier." 

"Then they adopted you and no one was there to check on you, or them." Mickey added. Ian had been with them for two years before the adoption, before it got bad. "How did it start?"

"I'm not sure really." Ian laughed, but it was dark enough to make him shiver. "I woke up for school that first day and they seemed different. The smallest things I did annoyed them. At first just yelling, then whenever I asked for something it would always be a no."

It was hard to picture Ian at seven years old. What could he have possibly done to make them so angry? 

"And it wasn't like I asked for much, you know? Not like a new bike when I had one, but asking for seconds during meals was bad enough to set them off."

As hard as this was to hear, as hard as it must have been for Ian to retell it, Mickey needed to know. Something in Ian's childhood allowed their killer to get close to him. To latch on. He needed more information in order to find this person.

"Is there anything specific you want to know?" Ian asked quietly, glancing over to see Mickey looking a little pale. "If I do this step by step, we are gonna need some time."

"How bad did it get?" Mickey asked first. He needed to know how far the Moore's were willing to take it. "I only ask because at some point as a kid, this guy knew something was wrong and he latched onto you. Or to them. He let what happened stay with him, and over time it pushed him to kill."

Ian nodded, thinking for a moment. "I think the worst was when I was around twelve or so. Uh, I had to have tutoring and they wouldn't let me go to my tutors house, so he came over."

"Did he see the locks in the kitchen, or the windows?"

Ian shook his head. "Not at first. We stayed in the dining room, far away from both windows and kitchen. But for some reason, he just knew. Ya know?"

Mickey did know. Tutors, rather older students or actual teachers sometimes had a knack for it. They knew things even when there was no evidence, no reason to suspect. 

"He was like two years older than me and he just kept looking at me funny." Ian rubbed one arm, trying to rid himself of the goosebumps. "Maybe because I was skinnier than our last session at school, or maybe because I was so uncomfortable in my own home."

"What happened? Is that when someone told the school?"

"Yes and no. He tried to ask me what was wrong, to get me to open up but I knew that if I told him what happened, that I'd be sent back to foster care."

"But he told the school?"

Mickey really hoped that kid had the balls to tell the school. Even without evidence, they still had to investigate. They would have seen the locks, they'd have known something was wrong. Maybe Ian could have been spared. 

Ian shook his head. "When I wouldn't talk about it, we dug into the school work. We were halfway through it before they came home. They didn't know he would be there, I guess they wanted time to make everything look normal."

Unable to help it, Mickey reached out and laid his hand on Ian's arm. He didn't squeeze, or offer any kind words, but just let Ian know he was there. That he was safe. 

"The looks on their faces…" Ian chuckled. "You'd think I lit the house on fire or wrecked one of their cars. It was unbelievable, how mad they were. That their dirty secret would get out and they'd lose everything."

There was a long silence, in which Mickey thought Ian might be done with the little show and tell part of it. Yes, he needed to know, but it wasn't as easy as telling a bedtime story. It was painful. It was history but it still haunted him. 

But then Ian kept going and it showed him the immense amount of strength he'd only seen once or twice in his career. 

"Mister Moore went crazy. Flipping over chairs, even the table, throwing things...like my books out the window. And when that altered the neighbors, he accused my tutor of breaking and entering and beat the shit out of him for good measure, to keep up the lie."

Mickey's eyes widened.

"The cops arrive and he's carted away in cuffs like a criminal when the only thing he did was try to help me. Then they looked like the good parents trying to protect their son. Some totally backwards shit."

"Jesus." Mickey stood, giving Ian a little room. He grabbed one of the plastic coffee cups, filled it with water and handed it to Ian. 

Ian took it with a smile and took a drink. "I never saw him again after that. I asked the front office what happened and apparently he transferred schools, in a different state. Maybe he was afraid of what they'd do to him if he ever said anything."

As bad as that was, Ian had yet to say what happened to him in all of it. But that was coming. He could see the way Ian's jaw tensed, the way he swallowed again and again like it held a bad taste in his mouth. 

"That's why my arm was broken." Ian continued. "I told the school I fell, or my friends played around too hard, whichever lie came easiest, but Missus Moore twisted my arm behind my back so far that it broke. She said that it was there home, not mine and that I had no right to invite anyone over."

When there was nowhere else to pace, Mickey sat back down on the bed, putting as much room as possible between them just in case Ian needed it. "Why didn't you tell them the truth? They could have helped you get out of there."

Ian simply shrugged again. "I guess I was convinced that it would be better if I just did whatever they asked me to. If I didn't complain, or ask for more than they gave me, that maybe it would all work out and they'd stop hitting me."

The more he listened, the happier he was that someone killed the both of them. People like that, who had the nerve to abuse anyone --especially an innocent child-- didn't deserve to live. They deserved death or life in prison or the same treatment they gave to Ian. 

"I don't know if anyone's ever told you this, Ian," Mickey made sure his voice didn't give away how furious he was, how truly sorry. "But none of that was your fault. Okay? None of it. You could have done so much worse and it still didn't give them any right to treat you like that."

Ian seemed to blink back years worth of tears before he offered a smile. "No, actually. No one's ever said that to me before. I guess maybe they might have had the chance if I told someone."

A light flashing against the windows had Mickey up on his feet within seconds. He pulled his jacket behind his gun as he palmed it and moved to the window. Even with the curtains closed he could see a car parked right in front of it and the lights had yet to turn off. 

It gave him a bad feeling. 

"What is it?" 

Mickey put one finger to his lips as he looked at Ian. "Turn the lights off." He moved quickly until the room plunged into darkness. "Can't be too careful.".

Ian didn't sit back down, but hovered close to him. Like he didn't want to be alone, even if it was just the other side of the room. Mickey couldn't blame him, he wouldn't want to be alone either if this was happening to him. 

"How would they know what room we picked?" Ian whispered, looking to the side in an attempt to see. "I didn't see anyone."

"They have ways of knowing." Mickey kept Ian behind him as the cars lights finally dimmed, then shut off. But there had been no opening of doors, or any talking. "I'm probably just being paranoid."

"That makes two of us."

Without moving so much as the air around them, Mickey peeled the side of the curtain back and peeked out. It wasn't the silver Honda he saw before, but why hadn't anyone left yet? Why just sit in the car and wait?

"I don't like this." Mickey drew his gun, keeping it firmly locked in his grip. Behind him, Ian lightly gripped his jacket. "If we have to run, don't go for the front."

Ian tensed. "Why?"

"It's closer to us than the emergency exit. If someone comes in, they'll take the shortest route to get in. You go for the emergency exit and I'll head to the front."

"Mickey, I really don't like this." Ian tightened his grip until Mickey's leather jacket creaked. 

"Take it easy, this is only about 'ifs' here. Just in case." Mickey could feel Ian breathing hotly against his neck, clearly afraid. "I'm sure it's nothing."

"Doesn't feel like nothing."

Just as he was about to insist they change rooms --preferably one not on the first floor-- two doors opened on the car and an elderly couple moved out. Slowly. Extra slowly. 

Mickey exhaled, pumping adrenaline way too fast into his bloodstream. Ian all but sagged against his back, only his breathing was a little labored. Like he was trying to hyperventilate. 

"Fuckin old people." Ian huffed and unclenched from his back. "Givin me a goddamn heart attack."

Mickey grinned as he put his weapon away and shut the curtain. "Yeah, I could have done without that."

"If this guy doesn't try to kill me, the anxiousness will." Ian flopped back against the bed with his eyes closed. "How do you deal with it?"

He was well aware that Ian was asking him something. Although as soon as he laid back against the bed, his shirt rose up just enough for Mickey to see the light red hair of his happy trail. Leading down...down...down into his jeans. He was zoning out, giving himself a moment to just watch without being watched. 

Only it was a moment too long without answering because Ian said his name and rose up on his elbows. His shirt lowered and Mickey blinked away the image before it could blossom into another, then another. All out of place and grossly inappropriate.

"Hmm?" Mickey asked, not making eye contact.

"I asked how you do it. The not knowing and the danger of it all. All those 'what ifs' you were talking about."

"Um...I guess you just get used to it?" Mickey phrased it as a question, to which Ian narrowed his eyes. "I don't focus on all that stuff when I'm working. Just trying to help people if I can. I guess the rest just happens and I don't realize it until it's over."

"I guess that makes sense." Ian sat up. "That's kinda how I was as a kid, you know? When all that bad shit started, when they hit me...I just pretended I was somewhere safe. Or that it was happening to someone else."

"That's called disassociation and it's very common with abuse. It helps the victim…" He paused when Ian huffed --annoyed at that word-- "it helps the person survive what's going on. If it's happening to someone else, it can't be that bad. Some doctors say it's the only way to survive something like that if you hope to have a life after."

"I don't want to be a victim." Ian met his eyes without hesitation. "Not then, not now. I'm not sure what that makes me but please don't call me that."

Being a victim literally meant you had no control over what happened to you. That your life, your choices were in someone elses hands and if you had to ask him, that was the worst thing he could ever imagine. Not being in control of his life, not knowing how he would make it...he never wanted that. 

"You're not a victim, Ian." Mickey corrected. "I was speaking in general when I said that. You're a survivor. Then and now. You fought to live, to get away. Even when you had no one, when you had nothing to help you. You got out of it."

Ian just stared at him, his eyes a little teary and Mickey was sure no one else had said that to him before. 

"Don't let anyone tell you you're a victim, especially not me." Mickey smiled, but Ian just kept staring. "It takes a lot of strength to crawl out of a place like that. And as a child...let's just say most adults don't have it in them to get away or survive it with any hopes of a good life. But you did. You are--"

He couldn't get the next word out because suddenly Ian was off the bed and clear across the room, kissing him. Ian had him by both sides of his face and the kiss --although a surprise-- was well calculated. His bottom lip slid between both of Ian's without prompt, deepening a kiss he never thought would happen. 

Then as the feeling finally registered --that scolding heat in his belly-- it was over. Ian pulled away like someone slapped him, his eyes wide, his mouth --slick and sexy-- fell open in shock. 

"Fuck, I didn't mean to do that."

Mickey licked his lips without meaning to and tasted cigarettes and bad coffee --both which he happened to like. "No?"

Ian shook his head, flustered, embarrassed, running his hands into his hair. It was rather adorable if Mickey had to admit --which he didn't and wouldn't. Ian seemed really surprised it happened. 

"No, of course not. I guess just hearing that for the first time…" Ian shook his head. "I don't know, actually. I guess I just reacted." 

Mickey chuckled. Choosing to break the tension rather than add to it. "Easy, man. I get it, okay? Some shit just happens."

Taking a deep breath, Ian stopped pacing. 

"It's hard going through shit that heavy and have no one understand why you might have a few issues, flaws even. Why it might be harder for you to adapt." Mickey licked his lips again. "Trust me, I know what it's like not to have someone tell you that whatever happened isn't your fault."

At that, Ian stopped freaking out enough to actually look at him. His eyes wide for another reason altogether. It wasn't every day that he let someone in on what happened in his past. No one aside from the shrink he used to see but sometimes, like now, it helped to share a hidden piece of yourself to someone who needed it. 

"Something bad happened to you too, didn't it?"

Mickey nodded.

"Will you tell me?"

He hesitated. "Maybe when this is all over and done with. But know that whatever happened in the past doesn't define who you are today. We make that choice because we can. We choose to do better, to be better because we know how bad it can be."

"I'm trying to be better." 

Mickey smiled. He sounded so sincere, so good. Innocent. "I can see that, Ian. And from what I've seen, you are better."

With another blush, Mickey could still see Ian waring with himself over the kiss. As was he. It was badly misplaced but felt too good to be a mistake. 

"As long as you believe what I said, I can deal with a kiss." Mickey teased and Ian's face flamed. 

"I believe you, but I'm sure it won't happen again."

"I'm sure it won't."

As Ian settled back on the bed, Mickey chose to sit at the table instead. He set the case files down in front of him, intent on going through them but knew that he needed to leave. 

"Can you stay?" Ian asked sometime later. His voice low and uncertain. 

No. He couldn't stay. Marlowe had already called him twice. He needed to leave and get back to work, not pretend to read when really he was watching Ian breathe. But he didn't say that. 

Mickey lit a cigarette and leaned back with an opened file in his hand. "Yeah, I can stay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you think you know who it is, please don't comment with it 💚 trying to keep suspense for now


	5. Cracks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, some may have a feeling as to who the killer is, if so, please don't say it lol trying to keep it mysterious 💜🙏

Beneath the Surface  
Chapter Five - Cracks

"So, how'd last night go?" Marlowe asked, sipping her cup of hot coffee as she thumbed through a pile of paperwork. 

Once again, he'd zoned out. It hadn't been the first time since he arrived at work over an hour ago. In fact, he was pretty sure he'd been zoned out the entire time. Sipping bad coffee, shuffling papers from one stack to the next without really looking at them, nodding when Marlowe asked a question but honestly, if she asked him what she said, he wouldn't be able to relay it back. 

Ian was on his mind. Had been since he left him at the hotel two hours after that kiss, two hours after he was supposed to leave, two hours of dodging phone calls from work... which had gotten him in trouble with both his partner and his boss.

Why he was losing it over some kiss, he'd never know. Not even a passionate kiss, at that. Just a kiss, a thank you kiss, a kiss that was never meant to happen. Which is probably why he couldn't stop thinking about it. About how soft Ian's lips were, how his bottom one got trapped between both of Ian's, of how shocked Ian seemed after, like he really hadn't meant to do it. 

Mickey had dreams about that kiss. About what would have happened under different circumstances, if they'd met like normal people did. He dreamt about what could have happened if another kiss had followed that first one, then another and another. Maybe they'd have kissed as they moved towards the bed, peeling off layers of clothing until there was just warm skin between them. 

After waking up multiple times from that same erotic dream, Mickey had given up on trying to sleep altogether and hightailed it back to the office. A fresh change of clothes, more caffeine than was deemed safe to consume, and he was right back in the office. 

Marlowe slugged in about an hour after him, looking just as worn out but offered him a smile. That smile ended with a question, one he wasn't sure how to answer without getting a lecture he couldn't handle at the moment. 

"Mick?"

"Hmm?" Mickey hummed, tired eyes looking across his desk to meet hers. 

"I asked how last night went with Ian. Did you have any trouble?"

Mickey shook his head and gripped his pack of smokes. He'd have to wait or go outside but it gave him something to mess around with while he tried to avoid her questions and her knowing eyes. 

"No, no trouble. Thought we were being followed on the way but I was just being paranoid." When she nodded without comment, he knew she understood. "Got the room, got him settled. He even told me a little more about life with the Moore's."

Her perfectly arched eyebrows went up in surprise. "I'm surprised considering how unhelpful he was when we first spoke to him."

"Unhelpful for a reason, Marlowe." Mickey defended without a second thought. "He told me about an incident with his tutor. Guess he wasn't supposed to be at the house and when the Moore's arrived home, they beat the shit out of the tutor, called the cops and had him arrested for breaking and entering, then broke Ian's arm as soon as they left."

Marlowe's eyes widened. 

"Yeah, and as bad as it sounds, I'm sure it was a hell of a lot worse. The tutor was transferred out of Ian's school and no one had heard from him again."

"Jesus."

As much as he didn't want to be broadcasting Ian's personal life, Marlowe had to know. It was pertinent to their investigation. It may or may not have put Ian back in their suspect pool, but after the run in with Ian's stalker and his neighbor, Mickey was sure Ian was innocent. 

"Have you called to verify the story?"

Mickey stopped, his coffee cup inches from his lips. "You really think Ian is still a suspect?"

"I know he seems like a good kid, Mickey, but that kind of trauma changes people. It makes them do things they'd never think to do under different circumstances."

With a roll of his eyes, he set his coffee back down. Disinterested. "You don't have to tell me the effects of trauma can have on a boy. But I'd rather focus on our unknown suspect that had already threatened Ian's neighbor, than keep thinking of him as a suspect. What, you think he dressed up and scared the shit out of her, then went home and pretended to sleep until we busted down his door?"

Marlowe shrugged in the way that pissed him off. Like she was just as likely to believe that as a separate man with an agenda into Ian's life. It just rubbed him the wrong way. 

"I'm not saying either way because we don't have more to go on. But we do need to verify Ian's story about the tutor. See if there were any police reports, check with his old school, see what they have to say."

It was protocol and he knew it. That didn't mean he had to like it. 

"Fine. We dig up the old reports to verify, and when it does and this proves that the Moore's were a piece of shit --as if we needed another reason-- we lay off Ian and focus on our unknown male. Got it?"

Smiling, Marlowe held up her hands. "Got it. You wanna call the station in that area, or contact the school?"

Mickey didn't hesitate. "I'll take the school. I want to know about Ian's time there and any contact they had with the parents."

"Figured you'd say that. Okay, then. I'll take the police reports, see if I can get the tutors name and see if anyone has a beat on his location."

They had a good old fashioned stare down, one instigated by Mickey but Marlowe didn't back down. She held his eyes, waiting for him to say something, to say what was on his mind. It would probably cause a fight that didn't need to happen, Mickey was sure of it. So, he kept his mouth shut and when she looked away first, he grabbed the phone on his desk and started making calls. 

He looked up the name of the school in the county the Moore's lived in, got their number and spent the better part of an hour on the phone with the principal. After explaining the circumstances regarding the Moore's death and reassuring them he only had Ian's best interest at heart, they finally opened up about all of it. 

First going on to say how Ian had been an amazing student. Not just in their middle school, but from elementary as well. His teachers praised him both academically and socially, saying what a bright student he was, smart, resourceful. Then it trickled into the problem areas when Ian began to change, which was around the time the adoption went through and they'd started to treat Ian like shit. His grades slipped, his happy go lucky attitude changed into something morose and unapproachable. He started fights, skipped class, which may have been understandable in high school, but not seventh grade. 

Then they faxed him the reports taken by more than one teacher regarding Ian's mood changes and injuries, despite what Ian said caused them. First the bruises, then the broken arm. They noted his rapid weight loss from where the Moore's had denied him food, then the hostile behavior

It was abuse as plain as day and Mickey got a little heated as to why no one tried harder. Although when the child denies it all and there was no hard proof against the parents --especially stand up people like the Moore's-- it made it hard to get anywhere legally. 

The school refused to comment on Ian's tutor and his unexplainable need to transfer into another school halfway through the year. They wouldn't give a name or even tell him what subject Ian needed tutoring on. That alone confirmed Ian's story, as far as he was concerned. Clearly something bad happened and the school wanted no part of it. 

He couldn't blame them, but it was of no help to him. Just another brick wall he needed to smash in order to get to the truth behind it all. 

At his request, the school faxed over all their records regarding Ian. Not just middle school, but his elementary school as well. Report cards, behavior; before and after the supposed incident, the nurses reports regarding his injuries and his unwillingness to explain aside from roughhousing with his friends. He got copies the school sent to the DFCS office; the department of family and children's services. He got copies of all of it, said his thanks and goodbyes and hung up. 

Over an hour went by during all that. His coffee was ice cold, his mood in the shitter, he felt sick to his stomach and all he wanted to do was check on Ian. 

Marlowe was still on the phone when he got up with his cold coffee and his phone and headed into the empty break room. Old coffee down the sink, hot, shitty coffee back in his cup and he took a seat at the table in the back and thumbed through his contacts until he found Ian's number. 

As the coffee unthawed his body, he debated on calling or not. He needed to do a check in for sure, but it didn't have to be him. That's what they had uniformed officers for, that was part of their job. Not his. And still, he wanted to be the one to check on Ian. 

As the call connected, he had about a thousand seconds to end it and pretend he never called. He stayed on the line and took a deep, much needed breath at the sleepy sound of Ian's voice in his ear. His nerves calmed, his brain slowed down from all those awful thoughts of finding Ian like he found the Moore's. 

"Mick?"

Mickey smiled. "Hey, sleeping still?"

"Mm, hmm. This bed fucking sucks. I miss my own."

Ian groaned and Mickey could see him on that hotel bed, stretching, sleepy eyes, probably in just his pajamas or boxers, warm skin, bed head...fuck. 

Mickey cleared his throat, wondering if Ian heard the little hitch. "It's only been one night, man. Try having an all night steak out and you're forced to sit in your car with shitty coffee and no bathroom. Then come tell me that king sized bed sucks."

Ian laughed and Mickey felt it flutter those butterflies that had been asleep in his belly until that moment. "Yeah, guess you're right. So, you calling to tell me how bad you got it or to see if I'm still alive?"

His smile slipped. "Just wanted to check in. See if I could convince you to skip work and stay there."

Ian scoffed. "Sorry, but that's not an option. I need to work. The bills don't pay themselves."

Mickey clenched his teeth. "No, they don't. But you know it's not safe, Ian. Especially when this guy seems to know everything about you."

"We don't know that. He just knows where I live. But a lot of people do. It's a heavily populated area. Not to mention most people at work know where to find me. We have no way of knowing if it's someone from there."

"That's not the point." Mickey once again abandoned his coffee to rub the space between his eyes. A headache was well on its way. "At this point it doesn't matter how he knows where you live, it just matters that he knows. And if you lived with someone I might not worry so much but you don't."

Ian sighed and Mickey could imagine him sitting on the side of the bed, his face in his hands, wondering what he did to deserve all of this. Mickey was wondering the same thing. 

"I'm not helpless here, Mickey. I know how to look out for myself, how to defend myself if I need to. I'm careful."

If only that was enough. 

"And like you said, whoever this is doesn't want to hurt me."

"Maybe, maybe not. But hurting you physically isn't the only thing he can do. He can scare you or people you care about, he can stalk you, keep you cut off from friends and family...other family." Mickey sighed deeply. "I just want you to be careful."

"I appreciate that, Mickey." Ian said with a wistful sigh. "I really do. And I promise I'll be as careful as I can, but I have to live. I have to leave and work and eventually go home."

Without much of a choice, Mickey gave a deep, defeated sigh and when Ian hummed a little, they both knew he was beat. "Okay, just be careful. Call me if you need anything. Anything, Ian. Like a ride back to the hotel or if you feel like someone is asking too many questions or watching you too much...just call me."

"Nobody does any of those things to me, so I'm sure I'll be fine in that area. But I may call for that ride back."

Smiling, Mickey was amazed at how quickly his mood shifted. "Good, that's better than nothing. I gotta get back to it, guess maybe I'll see you later."

"Later, detective. Catch some bad guys so I can go home."

"Trying my hardest. Promise." Mickey willingly flirted back, just a little. "Bye."

"Bye." Ian replied before the line went dead. 

Satisfied that Ian wasn't dying in that hotel room alone, Mickey went back to the case. He ditched his coffee and headed back to his desk to meet Marlowe. Only she wasn't at their desks and all her files were gone. 

Instead of calling and tracking her down, he headed towards the elevator and took it all the way down to the lower level of the building where Jerry's office was. He gave a knock on the cracked door, then a nod when Jerry looked up over the rim of his glasses, a smile appeared. 

"Detective, you're here early." Jerry motioned to the chair in front of his desk. 

Mickey took a seat, slouching and knew Jerry saw it. "That makes two of us."

"Afraid not, I'm not here early, I'm here late. Was just about to head home for a few hours or sleep, food and a shower."

It was God awful to work all night after working all day and know that you'd be back there a few hours later. He'd done it a million and one times and it never got any easier. The only issue with Jerry doing that now, is that he needed more information from him before he left for the day.

"Before you go, can you tell me what the rest of those test results said for the Moore's?"

Jerry held up one finger, then thumbed through a stack of files. He pulled out the third in the stack and flipped it open to a sheet of paper with lab results on it. "Tox report was finished an hour ago, was gonna leave the results in your inbox before I left. It came back clean. No drugs, recreational or otherwise, so your perp didn't drug them in order to subdue them."

Mickey whistled a low sound. "He must be one strong motherfucker."

"No doubt and with some serious anger issues. He would be physically and mentally exhausted after delivering a beat down like that, but I watched that surveillance footage you left me and he doesn't even look winded."

That could be drugs that helped their suspect deliver that much damage, or it could have just been the rage fueling it. Either way, it made their guy that much more dangerous. 

"The autopsy confirmed my theory on their cause of death, so no surprise there. She died from massive blood loss while he went into shock and eventually bled out. Your perp could have used a gun or a number of items in the home but beating them caused more damage." Jerry licked his thumb and flipped to another page. "I studied the footage of that tape and came up with a pretty good outline of your guy."

Mickey perked up at that. Sitting higher in the chair and actually listened to the details.

"Your guy is approximately six foot, weighs from around 175 pounds to 180. He is left handed, --got that by the wounds from our victims, he favored his left hand-- also from when he gripped the doorknob going in and out of the house."

He tried not to pinpoint those specifications to Ian, but the height and weight matched, give or take a pound, or an inch. Only Ian was right handed, he noticed at Ian's office. That didn't prove or disprove it was Ian, it was just more pieces to his scattered puzzle. 

"Okay, that'll help when we figure out who our perp is." Mickey grabbed the stress ball on Jerry's desk. It was in the shape of an alien, green with black eyes and when he squeezed it the eyes bulged out. It was strangely satisfying. "How about that half a boot print?"

Jerry did the thumb lick-page turn again. "I was wrong on the size. Not a fifteen but a fourteen."

"Brand?"

"Doc Martens, which are pretty expensive. Even when the ones that made that print were made a few years ago, nothing from this year."

Unhelpful, but Mickey appreciated Jerry's ability to narrow it down to one brand and one size. Nevertheless, Mickey said his thanks and Jerry handed him the files. He left without another word.

Marlowe was at her desk when he stepped out of the elevator. She had the desk phone glued to one ear and was jotting notes down in her notebook. He caught her attention as he sat down, she offered a nod before she continued her phone call. 

While he waited, Mickey sorted through his own papers. Ready to compare notes whenever she was done. Which was moments later to his surprise. 

"I swear, that was like pulling teeth." Marlowe rubbed at her ear and tossed the desk phone down. "You ask one question and they think you're questioning their ability to do their jobs."

Mickey sat back and propped his legs on the edge of his desk. "Hopefully that wasn't all for nothing."

"No, it wasn't. When they finally gave in and gave me what I wanted, it was simple." Marlowe kept her eyes down at the papers in front of her. "Ian's story checks out, at least with the local cops. But their story is a little bit different than what Ian told you."

Mickey scoffed. "Somehow that doesn't surprise me. Let me guess, they believed the Moore's when they said the tutor --whose name the school refused to give me, by the way-- broke into their home."

"Yes, at first they believed the parents, which was stupid because from the photos of the living room --taken because someone tossed a chair out the window-- you can see that Ian was with a school tutor."

When Marlowe handed over the photos, he took them and looked through each one. He saw the broken window with one of the chairs laying in the lawn, broken glass on the floor. The table had been flipped, the chairs tossed to all corners, but under all that were books. Two sets of books, to be exact. One was Ian's, the other belonged to the tutor. Clearly they were studying and there were no signs anyone tried to break in. 

"Yeah, they aren't the smartest tools in the shed." Mickey tossed the photos back and linked his hands behind his head. "So, they arrested the tutor, took mister Moore at his word and wouldn't bother listening to Ian."

Marlowe gave a sad, disappointed smile. 

"Yeah, they booked the kid on B&E and held him for the weekend until his parents showed up with the best lawyer in the state. The case didn't hold up, not when the school confirmed Ian needed a tutor and was approved by the Moore's, the kids parents were given Ian's information, tutored him every other day during the week. That along with the Moore's bank statements show that they paid him about a hundred bucks a week to help Ian, there wasn't much that didn't add up to the kid being truthful."

He was disgusted with the system after hearing that. He knew it was flawed, just like everything else was, but the only reason why the cops believed mister Moore was because he was a stand up guy. That grated on his nerves because that fine, upstanding citizen was an abuser who got what he deserved.

Without wanting to get into the whole 'the system is flawed' thing, Mickey just kept those thoughts to himself and kept the questions coming. "Any chance you found out the tutors name? Because the school flat out refused to talk about him."

Marlowe nodded. "Yeah, I did. That took some serious ass chewing. I guess they are salty because they had to fix their own mistake on this one. But his name is Tate Robertson, 28 years old, living in Joliet, thirty miles southwest of Chicago."

Lowering his feet, Mickey quickly booted up his computer and searched for Tate Robertson. It came up instantly, pulling up the police report from the Moore's house, one drunken disorderly from when Robertson was 22, a few unpaid parking tickets but nothing serious. 

"He could be our unknown male." Mickey said as he scanned down the screen and found the guys measurements. "Six foot, around 180 pounds, fits the suspect profile."

Marlowe nodded, but not like she was happy and pointed out the obvious again. "And so does Ian Gallagher. The report says Robertson's record was expunged for the B&E, then he up and left Chicago a few days later."

"He was barely eighteen then. He have family there?" Mickey asked but he searched for anyone with the same last name and came up with about fifteen different hits. Unhelpful. "I wonder if the Moore's had anything to do with him leaving."

"What, like they paid him to keep his mouth shut or they threatened him?"

He shrugged. "Could be both. It would take a lot for a senior, about to graduate in less than six months to just up and leave without a word. They had to have gotten to him."

"Even if they did, which we have no way to prove by the way, what does that prove?"

Mickey printed off Robertson's current address and stood up. "It proves we have another suspect aside from Ian. It means we take a drive and decide if he's a solid lead or not."

Marlowe stood as well, dug into her desk and strapped her weapon to her hip. "I'm all for Gallagher being innocent, I really am. But you have to stay objective here."

Glaring, Mickey stopped just short of the front door. "I am objective here, Marlowe. If he was going to kill them, why didn't wait all those years, hmm? Why now?"

For once, Marlowe didn't have an answer, or a comeback. She didn't look sorry about suspecting Ian at every turn, but she gave him the benefit of the doubt. Which he appreciated. 

"Come on, we can make it before lunch."

**

Work. Finally Ian was at work. Not with those cops, not holed up in that shitty hotel room, but at work. At a place he could watch him every single moment of the entire day. 

After finding out what room the cop stashed Ian in, he was forced to wait it out. To wait until the cop left and he could finally get Ian alone. 

Only when he got Ian alone, the only thing Ian had been doing was thinking about the cop. About the kiss. A kiss Ian initiated. He never got anything like that from Ian, not the actual kiss but the affection that came from it. After all he'd done for Ian, he went unnoticed, left out in the cold. A nobody when Ian got to put himself out there. 

It was maddening and if he didn't love Ian so much, if he didn't want to protect him, he'd probably hurt him. Or hurt him as much as he was able. He felt so close to Ian that he believed they were the same person, they shared one body, one heart, one mind. Only Ian didn't know he had someone watching over him...or he did now. 

If he knew the way to get Ian's attention was to kill someone who hurt him, he would have killed everyone who hurt him and gained that recognition sooner. 

The only thing wrong with his current predicament, was that Ian was focused on the cop, not on him. The cop who suspected Ian of murder...which was ludacris. He needed Ian focused on HIM, all on him. For once. 

For now, he had that. Ian was at work, falling asleep at his desk while he tried to file paperwork. Ian would shake himself awake, and file a few more papers, then doze off once again. It was exhausting trying to keep up with him. But he would, he always would. 

He would be there when he could, without being seen, just to make sure Ian was okay. To be able to watch him. To keep him safe. From everyone. From the Moore's, from Ian's nosey neighbor. Now he needed to protect him from that cop. 

That was his next target. He couldn't deal with any more competition for Ian's attention or affection. He just couldn't do it. And he didn't have to. Taking out the cop would be more of a challenge than the Moore's had been, but it wasn't impossible. 

It wouldn't take much to get the cops phone number, then his home address, his work schedule. All of it. He could time the cops life within minutes and get to him when he least expected it. 

Then he would have Ian all to himself. 

Brilliant.

**

Before he approached the door, Mickey checked and rechecked the address. He didn't want to disrupt someone's afternoon, maybe accuse them of murder, if they had the wrong place. That was both unprofessional and frightening and sadly it had happened before. 

It was early afternoon, which meant that Tate Robertson could be at work, like the rest of them, but there was a chance he would be at home. A chance they needed to take to get to the bottom of this before their unknown male decided to threaten someone else for getting too close to Ian. 

Mickey knocked loudly and as he waited they both grabbed their badges and put them in plain sight. It took a few seconds, but he could hear the lock clicking, then the door opened slowly. 

The picture on his license from the DMV matched the man in front of him. 

"Yes, can I help you?"

Robertson was dressed down for it being afternoon. Black sweatpants, a white t-shirt that had been worn too much that it wasn't even white anymore. No socks and crazy bedhead. He looked like it was his day off and he wanted to fully reap the benefits. 

"Tate Robertson?" Mickey asked. 

"Yes."

He held up his badge, as did Marlowe, she let him lead. "My name is Detective Milkovich, this is my partner Detective Summers, Chicago PD."

Robertson's eyes widened. Like he was truly surprised to see them. It could have been genuine, but he learned quickly that people were accomplished liars and he was easily fooled, trusting. 

"Chicago. I haven't lived there since I was a minor. What's this about?"

Mickey dug into his jacket and fetched the picture of the Moore's. He held it out to Robertson. "Do you know these people?"

Roberson's face paled, just like Ian's did. Only he took a step back, then another, then one shaky hand brushed into his brown hair, smoothing it back. A nervous gesture if he ever saw one. 

"Yes, I do. Now what's this about?"

The picture found its way back to the inner pocket of his jacket. "We are investigating the deaths of both Jim Moore and his wife, Sarah."

His face paled again, brown eyes wide. "They're dead?"

"Yes, murdered in their own home." Mickey focused on keeping Robertson in the dark, to see if he slipped up and said something he wasn't supposed to. He trusted his partner to watch him, facial ticks, words used, his overall attitude. "Your name came up in our investigation."

"In what context?"

"Their adopted son, Ian Gallagher. He told us you used to tutor him." A lie, but Robertson didn't need to know that. "What can you tell us about that?"

He was going to lie. Mickey could just see it. Shifty eyes, wetting his lips, starting to speak but stopping before any words made it out. He was goint to lie because whatever the Moore's did or said still scared him, even when they were dead. 

"Nothing much, really. I was a straight A student, Ian needed a little help. I placed an ad in the surrounding schools newspapers and soon the Moore's contacted me about their son."

He and Marlowe shared a look. She didn't give anything away but Mickey knew she wanted to slap him just for lying. For making their jobs even harder. 

"Can we do this inside?" Marlowe asked. She pointed to the house next door where the front door was open. "Don't want to disturb your neighbors."

Robertson gave an awkward wave to whoever that was next door and ushered them in without a single word. The house was nice, way too nice to have on a teacher's salary. Either he had rich grandparents, a second job, or whatever the Moore's paid him was still going strong. 

"Look, I really can't help you. I didn't even know them." Robertson said as he led them into the kitchen. "I only tutored Ian for a few months."

They waved away the offer for coffee and yet Roberson still made it. Like he needed something to do. "Yeah, until Jim decided to toss a chair out the window and accuse you of breaking and entering."

Robertson stopped, hanging his head between his shoulders. "That was supposed to be sealed."

"We are cops, bud. We unseal shit when we need to." Mickey dropped the nice guy act. "Now, how about you start telling the truth and we won't haul your ass in for interfering with a murder investigation."

Abandoning the coffee, Robertson turned, leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. "Fine. What do you want to know?"

"We know what happened with the Moore's that day. Ian told us, the reports told us. What we don't know is why you just up and left with only a few months until graduation."

When Robertson didn't jump in with an answer, Marlowe did. "Did they threaten you, or pay you off to keep quiet and stay away from Ian?"

"No, they didn't pay me off."

Mickey arched his eyebrows. "Explain this house to me then. No way you can afford it."

"Okay, they did pay me off. But I didn't know it until a check came to my house about a week or so after the incident at their house."

Mickey nodded. Now they were getting somewhere. "So they did threaten you into leaving?"

"Yeah, they did. Maybe it was because I was younger, but I believed when mister Moore said if I didn't keep quiet about it, and to stay away from Ian, that I'd regret it."

"You took him at his word?" Mickey asked, surprised. As threats go, it was pretty simple and didn't hold any fear whatsoever. "That doesn't sound too intimidating."

Roberson chuckled, but there was nothing funny about it. "You didn't see his eyes, defective. You didn't see how mad he was that I was there. He looked like he would have killed us both if the neighbors hadn't interrupted the entire thing."

"So, you just left, hmm?" Mickey took a step forward as he felt his irritation spike. "After you knew what they could do, you knew they were abusing him and you just left? Did nothing? Told no one?"

Marlowe put a hand on his chest. 

"He needed help, from you." Mickey kept going, ignoring her and the painful look on Robertson's face. "All you had to do was make a goddamned anonymous phone call and you could have helped him long before he helped himself."

"Easy, Mick." Marlowe whispered, lightly pushing him back. 

Mickey let her. He did a half circle around the kitchen, his heart racing with the need to beat his ass. It was one thing to try and fail to help, at least the effort was made. It was another thing altogether to do nothing. 

"Have you had any contact with the Moore's or Ian Gallagher since then?" Marlowe asked. 

Robertson hesitated, not for long but long enough for Mickey to notice. He was hiding something.

"I haven't with the Moore's, no. Once they found out I moved, I guess that was enough for them to leave me alone."

Marlowe nodded. "And Ian Gallagher?"

Mickey stopped pacing and moved back, this time he was in Robertson's space, breathing down his neck.

"Yes and no." Roberson paused to lick his lips, that nervous energy running all through him. "Last month, I ran into Ian at a bar about ten minutes from here. I didn't recognize him at first because I haven't seen him since that day."

Marlowe stepped back, allowing him to lead once more. "A thirty minute drive for a drink is pretty far, don't you think?"

*Yeah, I asked the same question. He said he was in the area. But something was different about him."

"Different how?"

"Different. He wasn't the sweet kid I remember. He was cocky, confident. He asked to buy me a drink and catch up. I said yes, we took a seat at the bar but he was very aggressive."

That did not sound like the Ian he had come to know. Ian was soft, shy almost. Reserved might be a better word. He didn't seem the type to hangout in bars or hit on men, at least not very often. Even that one kiss they shared set Ian off, like he had no idea why he'd done it. 

But Robertson seemed adamant that it happened. He told the story as if it happened moments ago, not last month. He didn't seem to be making any of it up and he genuinely seemed surprised that Ian had hit on him.

"Aggressive how?"

Robertson blushed. "Within a few moments of us talking, trying to catch up, he had his hand on the inside of my thigh." He pegged them with a look. "And it only went higher up."

Mickey clenched his jaw. "Then what?"

"At first I thought he was joking. I mean, I'm bisexual but not a lot of people know that. Certainly not Ian. We are at least six years apart, so we weren't friends or anything back then." Robertson hesitated again, looking back and forth between them. "Back then, Ian might have had a crush on me. But I think that was more out of convenience than anything else."

Of course twelve year old Ian had a crush. Robertson was a good looking bastard now, Mickey couldn't imagine him at eighteen. Not to mention he had the smartsl, he'd been kind to Ian as well. Add in the fact that Robertson tried to help Ian, that all added into a well deserved crush.

"But that was years ago." 

"Yeah, so imagine my surprise when Ian asks me to leave with him."

Mickey's eyebrows pulled their little dancing routine within seconds. "And did you?"

With a shy glance at the both, Robertson nodded. "There was no reason not to. We aren't kids anymore, we have history, and there was definitely mutual attraction."

Without trying to sound as put off as he felt, Mickey forced himself to take a few breaths, trying to keep his slight irritation to a controllable level. "Okay, let's get back to the 'Ian is different' part."

"As I said, it could be nothing. A lot of time has passed and I'm sure what he went through changed him like it did me. It wasn't until later that night when he was about to leave my place that it felt a little odd."

Of course they'd spent the night together. Robertson confirmed it. More than once. But still, Mickey didn't want to hear it for some reason. He didn't want to picture those two together like that, or at all really. 

"What happened?" Mickey asked. He could feel Marlowe's eyes on him and knew a talk was in order after this. 

"I said his name. He left his jacket on the bed and I ran after him, calling his name." He waited for them to nod, and squirmed away from that cops heated look. "He took the jacket and told me not to call him Ian. He said that wasn't his name."

They hadn't been expecting that because they shared a look. It said either this guy was lying or had the wrong guy in his bed. Which is why Marlowe produced a current picture of Ian and showed it to him. 

"This is the man?" Marlowe asked. 

Robertson nodded. "Yeah, that is Ian Gallagher. But he said that wasn't his name. He refused to respond to it and told me to call him Lip."

"Lip?" Mickey repeated, confused. 

"Yeah, which was weird but hey, I don't mind." Robertson held his hands up, chuckling. "I'd call him anything he wants me to call him."

Now he wanted to barf. He felt it in the back of his throat, just waiting to come up at the worst possible time. Why he was acting like a jealous boyfriend, he had no fucking idea. But he felt it. 

To avoid getting any more details like that, Mickey kept it as professional as he possibly could. "How long did this...uh, relationship to on for?"

"It's still going on, Detective. Since that night, Ian and I, or Lip...whichever name he wants to choose, we get together as often as we can."

So, when Ian kissed him, he was secretly seeing Robertson. Great. Just bloody wonderful. If that didn't sour the mood, nothing would.

With a rueful smile, Mickey just nodded. He met Robertson's eyes and knew he saw something in his, jealousy perhaps, confusion for sure. Something had said that Robertson suspected he and Ian also had something going on and didn't like it, even if it was just a suspicion, because it was.

Aside from that, what bothered him the most was the different sides of Ian he was learning about. His Ian was soft and sweet, blushing over a kiss he hadn't meant to give. But Roberson's Ian, had been meeting him for over a month, obviously it was sexual, that's probably all it was. And the worst part was Ian hadn't mentioned it, not once. In fact, he said he didn't have time for relationships, or men. 

So why lie? 

Was he just that private? Was he embarrassed? Trying to keep his social, sexual life private? 

Was it okay for him to ask Ian that? Yeah, but only professionally. Without judgement, without opinions. 

"One last thing," Mickey said after a moment and knew both Robertson and Marlowe noted his longer than average recovery period for questions. "Did you two ever talk about what happened with the Moore's? Or anything about them?"

"It was mentioned, in the beginning when we realized who each other was. But we didn't go into it. It was a silent understanding to let it be."

"Did you see him two nights ago, or should I say morning?"

"No, I've been out of town since the middle of last week. There was a conference in Rockford."

Mickey took out his notepad and his pen and wrote it down. "Is there anyone to confirm you were there?"

"Uh...yeah. The high school where I work. More than half the staff was there as well. I have hotel receipts, a rental car receipt, and more than half a dozen other charges on my credit card."

They'd have to check with the school, then check with Robertson's credit card company to confirm his alibi. 

"Wait a second," Robertson shook his head in disbelief. "Am I a suspect?"

"If we can't verify your stay in Rockford, you are." Mickey kinda enjoyed his shocked reaction, even when it was grossly unprofessional. "No one aside from you and Ian Gallagher knew what was happening inside that house. That makes you both suspects."

"That might be true, but there is no way it was me, or Ian. I have an airtight alibi for all of last week and most of this week. I'm sure Ian does as well, but I know him. He would never hurt someone."

Did two people who only slept together actually know each other? Desires, wants, needs, fantasies. But that doesn't qualify as truly knowing someone. 

Mickey didn't know Ian and either did Robertson. 

"I'll decide who hurt who and who is capable of what." Mickey dug into his pocket and grabbed a card, then handed it to him. "Your alibi better pan out, or we'll be back."

Robertson held the card firmly in his fist and gave an irritated nod. Mickey didn't care. He was irritated as well. More than he should be and didn't know how to process all the information given to them. 

But of course, Marlowe always had something to say. Especially about Ian.

"Thank you for your time." Marlowe glared at her partner then pulled him out of the house. "What is your problem?"

Mickey shrugged her off and moved to the drivers side door. "My problem, is that asshole leaving Ian to fend for himself, then has the nerve to get in bed with him years later?"

Marlowe rolled her eyes and got in the car when he did. "Their sexual life is not our problem. Our business here is to verify if his alibi checks out. If it does, that's the end of it with him. Whatever he and Gallagher do is their own business."

Mickey grumbled a reply he knew she couldn't make out. Arguing with her was pointless. She was being the objective one this time and telling it like it is, he was the one being irrational and unprofessional. 

"So, instead of you acting like a scorned lover, how about we check his alibi and talk to Gallagher again?" Marlowe suggested with so much snark in her voice, it made her cringe.

"Whatever." Mickey said and bit the inside of his cheek to keep quiet. He started the car and peeled out of the driveway, heading back to Chicago. 

She wasn't wrong. Which is what pissed him off. For some reason he was getting in deeper and deeper with Ian. He didn't know how to stop it, or his reactions to certain things, only that if it kept happening, he was in big trouble.

**

Ian couldn't stay awake at work. Not for long, anyway. Every time he sat down, his eyes would flutter closed. Blinking became harder, it took longer until he was jerking awake to avoid falling out of his chair. 

More than once, his boss got onto him about it. She suggested he go home, but home was that hotel room with nothing to do but sleep and somehow he didn't think that would help very much. He slept for nearly eight hours and still felt dead on his feet.

At lunch, he avoided food altogether. He went to the drug store and bought a bottle of caffeine pills, two Redbulls and a five-hour energy shot. The woman at the counter looked at him like he was on crack, which he would be after ingesting all that stuff. 

It didn't help. Half an hour later he was falling asleep again while trying to fill out a report. 

Maybe he kept falling asleep because of the dream he kept having. Or was it more like a memory that morphed into a fantasy? That was probably it. He dreamt of that kiss with Mickey last night. Not just about how embarrassed he was that he let it happen, but because of that spark of white hot heat he felt when it did happen. In his dream, they didn't stop at one kiss. There was more, much, much more. 

There were endless kisses, wandering hands, --Mickey's were rough compared to his own-- the muffled moaning really got to him, making his body hotter, his blood pump faster, all leading down, down, down. The urgent shedding of clothes, the more skin revealed, the more he needed it. 

Only to wake up alone. At the hotel, at work. Always alone. 

Ian had a feeling he kept falling asleep just to get back to the dream. To keep living it. And that might have been okay, but he felt ten times worse when he woke up as he did when he went to sleep. Like he hadn't slept at all, like always. 

As he stood and tried to shake off that never ending exhaustion, his call phone rang. He dug into his pocket and didn't recognize the number, it wasn't saved into his contact list either. He was tempted to let it go to voicemail, but a worrisome feeling prompted him to answer it. 

"Hello?" 

"Lip, hey man. I know you're at work but can we talk for a second? It's important." A worried voice on the other end said. A voice Ian also didn't recognize. 

"I think you have the wrong number." Ian replied politely, wondering why whoever that was would use his half brothers name. It wasn't like Lip was a common name. 

"It's me, Tate. Look, I just need to talk to you. I won't keep you long."

Ian rubbed between his eyes where that headache liked to rest until certain moments, like now, to come and knock him on his ass. "I still think you have the wrong number. My name is not Lip and I don't know anyone named Tate."

The guy let out an irritated huff and Ian barely had time to wonder what his deal was before he began talking again. Only faster. Frantic like. 

"Can you cut the shit, please, Lip...uh, Ian. Whatever." Tate huffed. "I know you told me not to call but something is wrong. A detective just came to see me, asking about you?"

Lip? Ian? Now this guy couldn't make up his mind about who he assumed he was talking to? He acted like they really knew each other but for the life in him, he couldn't place the voice or the name. 

The part that irked him the most, was the mention of a detective. It couldn't be Mickey, could it? That would mean that this Tate guy had a connection to him, to the Moore's. But how? 

Maybe it was better to play the part for now, be who this guy said he was to get some information. He decided to give it a shot and hope for the best. 

"What detective?" 

Tate sighed in relief. "His name was Milkovich. Had a hot chick as a partner. They said your adoptive parents were murdered."

Mickey had paid this Tate guy a little visit, a professional one from the sounds of it. Asking questions about the Moore's, digging into his past most likely...only there wasn't anyone named Tate from his past that he could remember. Only…

Then it clicked. Tate Robertson, the senior that used to tutor him. The guy that tried to help him before Jim Moore got him arrested. The day Jim broke his arm. 

How did Mickey track him down? What did he ask? Was Tate involved? Why did it seem like they'd been in contact? Tate had his number, said HE told him not to call...he was so fucking confused. 

"Ian, you there?"

Ian opened his mouth a few times, trying to talk. Trying to ask. Wanting-- no, needing to know how he was involved and what all Mickey said. But nothing came out. Not a single word. 

Fatigue spread across him in an instant, making him sit back down in his chair. His hands shook, his vision blurred, his headache intensified to the point of actual, physical pain. 

"Ian?"

He couldn't answer. His phone dropped from his hand when the pain became too much. He couldn't see his own hand in front of him, he couldn't tell if anyone came up beside him, he couldn't do anything besides put pressure on his temples and ride out one of the most brutal migraines of his life.


	6. Split

Beneath the Surface  
Chapter 6- Split

After interviewing Tate Robertson, Mickey was supposed to be back at the office checking out his story. He needed to call the school and verify with the supposed teachers who accompanied him on the trip, then track his credit card transactions over the last month. If it panned out, then they could focus on another line of inquiry, but if there was one thing out of place, he would be in lock up until he could figure it out. 

Instead of doing that, Mickey asked Marlowe to drop him off at the precinct. He grabbed his own car and headed towards the nearest bar for a drink, or more than one. He needed time to think over what he learned from Tate Robertson. And to do that without blowing steam from his ears, he needed to be away from his colleagues, away from Marlowe and her narrow minded focus and he needed to relax, hence the drinks. 

It was odd to say the least, Roberson's story. Not about being out of town at the Moore's time of death, but his story about Ian. It made sense that he and Ian could connect all those years later and start up a sexual relationship. Even when he hated to think about it, it made sense. It wasn't far-fetched. On the other hand, it didn't make sense that Ian would have asked to be called by another name. Maybe if they were strangers cruising for a hookup, worried about their significant others finding out, yeah. But that wasn't the case here. 

So, why lie? 

On top of that lie, another one was getting to him. The one about Ian saying he didn't have time for men, or sex and relationships. Mickey believed him because he'd been so adamant about it, leaving no room for discussion. Only to find out that Ian did have time for sex and men and possibly a casual relationship. And as this secret relationship was happening, Ian had been flirting with him the entire time. They even kissed for Christ sakes. 

"Another one!" Mickey said loudly, trying to be heard over the soft hum of the music and the constant chatter. Another drink was placed in front of him and he took a big drink before he set it down and put his head in his hands. "Fuck."

The smart option would be to ask Ian straight up about what Robertson said. Given that he was an excellent judge of body language and reading facial expressions, he would instantly be able to tell if Ian was lying. And if he was, Mickey needed to know why. He needed to know for the sake of the case and because his mind hasn't stopped creating fantasies since they shared that kiss, if it was one sided or misconstrued, he needed to know so he could adjust and get back to work. 

The safe option, or rather the cowardly one, would be to keep what he knew to himself until both he and Marlowe could question Ian about it. And not in a hotel late at night with just the two of them, but in an interrogation room where it would remain professional and they could get to the bottom of all the lies and secrets. Only upon doing that would ruin his and Ian's forming friendship, however complicated it was. 

Mickey didn't want to ruin it by being all professional, but it would ruin itself if he let it be. It would eat at him. Or Marlowe would bust in like a bulldozer and do it for him like she did sometimes. He wasn't sure which would be worse. 

"Another." Mickey said again, only slightly feeling the buzz. Another drink was placed in front of him, but he didn't touch it. "Got any food here?"

The bartender set a clean glass down on the bar. "Some. The usual."

The usual included wings, fries, maybe a burger depending on the place. Food that went well with beer because at the end of a long day...which this was, people wanted to drink, eat and relax before they headed home for the night. 

"Whatever is good." Mickey said before he took another drink, trusting the bartender to take care of him. 

Before he could finish his drink, or receive his food, his phone was ringing. Mickey lifted up a little to wiggle it out of his slacks. He didn't even check the caller ID before he answered. 

"Milkovich." 

"Hey, it's Ian."

Mixed signals rushed through his body. He was happy Ian called simply because he loved the sound of his voice and there was a possibility they got to see each other again. At the same time, he was irritated about the newly gained, controversial information and wasn't sure how to handle it. 

"You there?" Ian asked.

Mickey cleared his throat. "Yeah, sorry. Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, fine. I was about to leave work soon and wanted to see if that ride was still available."

Closing his eyes, his body pulsed again, just like during that kiss. Instead of welcoming it, he pushed it down, down, down until he felt the buzz of the alcohol again. They would be seeing each other as it turned out, which meant Ian would pick up on his off mood or he would crack and take a shot at Ian. Both didn't seem very comforting. 

"Yeah, of course." Mickey pushed the glass of whiskey aside just as his food was placed in front of him, a burger stacked two feet tall surrounded by both fries and wings. His stomach growled. "You need me to head there now?"

"I have another half an hour maybe."

The bar was just up the road from Ian's work. On his way to go talk to Ian, he spotted the bar and stopped for that drink. If Ian had at least half an hour, he could still eat and make it there before work ended. 

"Alright, I'll be there." Mickey tossed a fry into his mouth. "Just stay in the building until I get there."

"I will. Thanks."

Mickey smiled despite his mood. "You're welcome." He ended the call, tossed back whatever was left in that glass and when asked for another, Mickey asked for water instead. 

Without remembering when the last time he ate anything was, Mickey forked down his food in record time, finished with two glasses of water that seemed to even out his buzz. He still had fifteen minutes left when his phone rang again. 

*Milkovich." He said as he put it to his ear. 

It was Marlowe. "Hey, where are you? We were supposed to be checking out Robertson's story."

"Stopped for food really quick. I don't even remember the last time I ate anything."

"Okay, well why you were doing that, I combed through Ian's life again, trying to find someone, anyone with Lip as their first name."

She peeked his attention. "Did you find anyone?"

"Yes and no. I found someone named Phillip Gallagher, also goes by the name Lip."

Mickey narrowed his eyes. "Gallagher? As in he's related to Ian?"

"Yes, he is. From as far as I can tell, Phillip is Ian's cousin but they share the same mother."

That didn't make any sense. "Wait, Ian was adopted by the Moore's. If he had a family out there that entire time, why didn't child services just place him with them?"

"Their mother, Monica Gallagher, has been in and out of jail since she was a teenager. She's been certified an unfit parent to her other children, Phillip included. Now, the father, Frank Gallagher has also been in and out of jail, also an unfit parent but he is only Phillip Gallagher's father, not Ian's."

"Okay," Mickey rubbed his eyes, hoping his headache would hold off a little while longer. "Cousins and same mother means she had an affair with what, one of Frank's relatives?"

"Yeah, his brother Clayton Gallagher. He lives on the opposite side of Chicago as the other Gallagher's. He's a father, a husband, and it seems he's had little to no contact with Ian his entire life."

He knew a little something about bad, unfit parents. His dad was a real piece of work, also in and out of trouble but it was prison, not jail. Over the course of his childhood, he and his siblings had been taken away by child service on more than one occasion. 

"So, this kid has three parents who could have kept him out of foster care and they chose not to." Mickey clenched his jaw in irritation. "I'm not sure if being unfit is better or worse than him ending up in child care, only to be placed in the abusive hands of the Moore's."

"Yeah, his entire life has been awful. There is no doubt about that." Marlowe agreed with a deep sigh. "The name Lip wouldn't get tossed around every day though. That's not a common name for someone so Ian has to know he has a family out there somewhere."

"Not much of a family if you ask me." Mickey stood, reached into his wallet and tossed a fifty on the top for his check. "Okay, so he gave Robertson's his brothers name. But we don't know why. It doesn't make sense because they weren't strangers having a one nights stand. They knew each other."

"That is something we need to talk to Gallagher about."

"He's about to get off work and asked for a ride back to the hotel. I can ask him about Robertson and his family."

He could almost hear Marlowe's eyeroll. She preferred to do everything by the book, which meant taking potential suspects into the precinct to properly question them.

"Alright, you do that." Marlowe said flatly. "We better hope he opens up otherwise we have nothing. I'm checking on Robertson's alibi now, but I could use your help."

Mickey lit up a cigarette as he stepped outside and walked towards his car. "I'll be there as soon as I drop Ian off and ask him those questions. It shouldn't take more than an hour."

"Alright, bye."

Mickey ended the call and slipped inside the car to turn the heater up. He waited for the car to warm up and tried to think about what might happen if Ian tried to kiss him again. If he should let it happen, or tell him it was inappropriate. Or if it even happened at all. That one kiss was just Ian being grateful he understood his life, nothing more. Right?

God, he was nervous.

As he drove, his left leg wouldn't stop bouncing up and down due to anticipation and fear of what could happen, or what wouldn't happen. And he didn't have enough to psychoanalyze it because he pulled into the parking lot of Ian's job. 

The parking lot was dead, maybe a handful of cars parked in spaces across the entire structure, the building was quiet. It started to get dark early now, especially in Chicago, and the streetlights lit up, as did the lights on the side of the building. 

Mickey walked inside, put off a little by the eerie quiet and darkened cubicles. He passed by the front desk, then down the narrow hallway until he stopped at Ian's desk. It was the only one within eyeshot that had a light turned on. The desk was messy, pencils and pens tossed over the tops, paperclips too, pencil shavings, the papers looked like they'd been tossed around, unlike before when it was perfect, everything was straight and in order, all the pencils put away, the papers straight and in a neat stack. 

It looked like someone else was currently using Ian's desk. 

It could have been an end of the work thing, where he was neck deep in paperwork and hadn't had time to tidy up his space. But something felt off, Mickey had this twist in the pit of his stomach that said something changed. 

Mickey glanced around the darkened space, looking for any signs of Ian, or that something else might be off. He barely scanned half the room before he found a coffee cup spilled on the floor, like he dropped it in a hurry. It almost looked like there was a struggle. 

"Ian?" He called out, pushing his jacket back around his gun so he had quick access to it. "You in here?"

He was met with eerie silence, one that made his senses kick into high gear. A few steps forward and that feeling intensified to the point where he did pull his gun. He took the safety off, cocked it back and held it in a firm grip down at his side. 

"Ian, if you're in here, you gotta let me know." Mickey said as he laid flat against the wall and peeked around the corner. It was empty. "Now is not the time for games."

There was a sound all the way down the hallway that had him flinching. It was a clanking sound, like some kind of metal rubbing together. It reminded him of someone sharpening a knife on a metal block, or scraping two large kitchen knives together and suddenly he knew he needed to lay off the horror movies for a while. 

"Ian!" He barked again, loudly, irritated. 

"Back here!" Ian called back. 

Relief flooded through him. His jaw unclenched and his shoulders relaxed. With his gun safely put away, he hauled ass down the hallway. Ian was standing in what looked like a break room, standing in front of an open locker and he was very shirtless. 

Mickey bit his lip as he casually eyed Ian's muscular back and the wide span of his shoulders. Further down, he could see the elastic band of his boxers peeking out. Fuck, he looked good. 

"Hey, you okay?" Mickey asked once his eyes were safely off Ian's body. He turned, grinning like Mickey had never seen him before. 

"Yeah, sorry. I spilled my coffee on my shirt and came back to see if I had another one."

Ian had a shirt in his hand, which seemed to confirm his story. But he still had that feeling like something was wrong. 

"Yeah, I saw that. Thought something might have happened."

Ian's eyes narrowed for a moment before he let out a laugh. "Shit, sorry. I didn't mean to make you worry. Can't hear much back here."

The hair at the back of his neck stood on end. He looked around again, seeing nothing but an empty room, then looked back down the hallway and that was empty as well. When he turned back around, he figured out the reason his hair stood up, Ian was staring at him. Not just making eye contact for conversation sake, but staring at him, his eyes roaming from head to toe and he wasn't even trying to hide it. 

When their eyes met, Ian didn't blush like he normally did, he didn't shy away and apologize. This time, Ian met his eyes and smirked, then made another pass over him. 

"You look good." 

Mickey opened his mouth, then shut it when he couldn't figure out what to say. He hasn't been expecting that, like at all It took a moment, but eventually he was able to respond. "I doubt that. Wearing a monkey suit is hardly attractive."

Ian bit his lip. "Normally I'd agree, but it looks especially good on you."

It was weird, Ian complimenting him, but it was possible that things had changed since that kiss. Like it was okay for them to compliment each other now, also looking at each other like they were their favorite meal seemed acceptable too. 

"Thanks." Mickey mumbled out an embarrassed thank you, then shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "You almost ready to go?"

"Yup, gotta grab my stuff from my desk and lock up." Ian said as headed towards the door, shrugging his shirt on. 

As he passed Ian bumped into his shoulder, lightly knocking him against the door frame. It wasn't a hard push, more like Ian tried to rub his entire body against him as he passed and succeeded. A smell hit his nose, probably whatever cologne Ian put on earlier, it tightened something in his lower belly.

"How was your day?" 

Mickey followed after him, smelling him the entire time. He felt like a puppy trailing after the smell of food or a bone. It touched him in ways he wasn't familiar with, it wormed into his clothing, into his skin, his blood and bones. It touched every part of him until he smelled nothing but Ian, until he felt nothing but Ian. 

This was bad. Really, really bad. 

"Eventful, as it always is." Mickey said as they made it back to Ian's desk. He stayed a few feet away to ensure that smelling stuff didn't happen again. "I was hoping we could talk on the way. Some stuff has come up."

Ian looked back, looking very curious, but not worried. "That sounds very interesting. Of course we can talk."

He didn't seem worried. Curious, yes, but not worried. "Sounds good." He watched Ian smile once more, then turned back towards his desk and stuffed a few things into his bag, shut off the light, then turned. "Ready?"

"Oh, very." Ian stepped up to him, smiling. "After you."

Mickey led the way to the door, feeling Ian watching him. It felt like fire caressing his back. Once outside, he pointed to his car, and Ian kept in step with him until they both got in. He cranked the heat, waiting a moment or two as the car heated up. 

"You sure you're okay?" Mickey asked again, he had to. "You seem, I don't know, different maybe."

"Different?" Ian asked, trying out the word for himself. "Today was just a good day, I guess. I've felt better today than I have in a long time."

Somehow, he managed a smile. Given his bad history, his newly founded troubles, it was nice to hear that Ian had a good day in the middle of it all. It was even better that he got to be around him during this brief good mood. Maybe that was the 'different' that he'd been picking up on. Maybe Ian was simply happy. 

"Well, I'm glad." Mickey offered another smile and Ian's eyes dropped to his mouth. "Do you need to stop anywhere before we get to the hotel?"

"Maybe some food? There isn't much around there."

Mickey pulled out of the parking lot and headed towards the hotel. "Food it is, if you see somewhere you like, just yell. Anything else?"

"Liquor store for sure." Ian pointed to the first fast food place he saw, which happened to be Taco Bell. "I need a drink."

"You sure that's safe?" Mickey asked, sounding very much like a nagging adult. 

Ian laughed. "Yeah, why not? It's been a stressful week, it's good to have a drink or two before bed. Loosen up a little."

They pulled into the drive through and Ian leaned over him to order. Mickey kept his head back against the headrest, otherwise his nose would be pressed against Ian's cheek. He tried not to move or breathe because they smell would probably be enough to make him hard, which he didn't need. 

"Want anything?" Ian asked, turning his head until they were nose to nose. 

Mickey shook his head, trying not to look at his mouth. "I ate before I picked you up, I'm good."

"Good." Ian smirked, wiggled his nose against Mickey, then told the woman on the intercom that his order was complete.

Back in his own personal space, Mickey drove forward and subtly adjusted his slacks. They were just a little too tight at the groin when all Ian did was provide excellent eye contact and rubbed their noses together. He was acting like a teenage girl. 

Ian was happily munching away as he pulled up to the liquor store. "You want me to run in?"

Ian shook his head and stuffed the burrito in his mouth so his hands were free to set the bag aside and reach for the door. "I'll be quick."

"Jesus." Mickey groaned when Ian was gone. He leaned back in his seat, eyes closed and shifted his hips a little until his slacks rubbed against his cock. It sent a chill down his spine. "Fuck."

Something was happening. Ian was different, he was flirting, touching him, teasing him. It was subtle before, something he could ignore to a point, but it was slowly moving into obvious and he wasn't sure what to do.

Of course this wasn't the time, again. He was still in the middle of the case, Ian was still a potential suspect, he was definitely a victim, at least to him. But he wanted Ian, that much was clear. He wasn't exactly sure what he wanted, he just wanted something. Anything. 

Ian was back within five minutes carrying a large brown bag and wearing that same, smug looking smile. Mickey put on whatever smile he could manage, which wasn't much. "Get whatcha needed?"

Ian set the bag between his feet, then dug into the fast food bag for another burrito. "Good to go, tonight should be fun."

Fun. Potentially avoiding a killer and Ian was having fun. Curious. 

The way to the hotel was surprisingly quiet. Ian kept glancing at him every few minutes, which meant that to see it, he was already looking at Ian. Not admiring his perfect side profile or anything like that, but to watch him. To keep his eyes on him. For some reason, it made him feel safer. 

"So, you said you to wanted to talk?" Ian broke the silence. 

Mickey nodded. "Yeah, but maybe it can wait until we get back to your room."

"Well, that's suggestive." Ian chuckled. "But this is about work, right, not pleasure?"

"Yeah, just work." Mickey twitched under his gaze. 

"That doesn't seem very fun, does it?"

Mickey parked in the hotel parking lot, shut off the car and looked over at Ian. He was always smiling, almost in a wicked way. He had to ask what was going on because with what he was feeling, what he was thinking, it could only lead to things they couldn't do.

"Ian…" was all he had time to say before they were kissing. 

With absolutely zero control, Mickey leaned into his touch, moving towards the seat. His hand moved to the arm that was outstretched to cup his face and his lips parted, filling the car with a deep, gasping moan. 

The kiss wasn't like the other one had been. The first had been a fluke, a kiss of gratitude, one that wasn't meant to happen. But this one was calculated and well delivered, Ian certainly meant for it to happen and he wasn't shy about it whatsoever. He was confident, in control. 

Although it felt fantastic and he could easily get addicted to the taste of him, he put his hand on Ian's chest and pushed until the kiss broke and they were left panting, sharing the air between them. 

"What's wrong?" Ian asked, pushing against Mickey's forehead. "Didn't you want to?"

"We can't." Mickey said, surprised at how raw his voice sounded. "I'm working a case, you…." He shook his head and Ian's head moved down, getting closer to his mouth. "I just can't."

"It won't hurt the case." Ian traced Mickey's bottom lip. "I know you've been thinking about it because I have. I've been thinking about many, many things, Mickey."

To give in would be so easy and he wanted to. He loved the feel of Ian against him, touching him, kissing him. But it didn't seem right because of work. 

"Ever since I saw you, I've had this urge to just…." Ian growled, unable to continue. "But now, I want you."

"This isn't supposed to happen." Mickey said again, because it was the only thing he could say aside from 'yes' over and over again. "Maybe if this case was over…"

Ian gripped dark hair and pulled, earning a surprise gasp as Mickey's head tilted to the side. "Who would have to know, hmm? I wouldn't tell anyone and I know you wouldn't. Come on, just work with me."

When he moved again, Ian took it as a sign to go ahead because he kissed him again. There was no way he could say no or pull away, not when Ian was forcing him against his lips, growling against his mouth and pushing his tongue inside him as quickly as possible. The only thing he could do was kiss him back. 

And he did. 

Mickey opened his mouth as his head tilted again, deepening it as his bottom lip slipped between Ian's. He moved closer, blocked by the center console and let his own hand move down Ian's firm chest, gripping his shirt. 

"God, I want you." Ian said as he pulled back, moving across Mickey's jaw. 

With a deep moan, he tilted his head just a little until Ian's lips landed on his neck. "Ian."

"I'll make it good for you." Ian promised, then swirled his tongue into his ear. "Gimme a chance, please."

It had been so long since he was with another man. Years. And he'd never had anyone as sexy as Ian was, as eager to get him naked and make him feel good. He wanted so fucking bad it was hard to think about anything else. 

"Feel how hard I am."

His hand was suddenly on Ian's cock. He could feel how hard he was, how big, just from that soft touch. He squeezed on instinct, forcing Ian to give him a deep sounding groan and a sultry shift of his lips. 

"Let me give it to you."

"Ian, please." Mickey whined, unsure what he was asking for. A break or more, he didn't know. He didn't take his hand back though. Instead, Ian's moved back on top of his and together they stroked him. "Fuck."

"Exactly," Ian chuckled deeply into his ear. He pulled back, pushing their heads together again. "I know you want it. I can feel it, Mickey. I can see it in the way you look at me."

Control. He had more control over his needs than this. With immense willpower, and a deep regret, Mickey pulled his hand away from Ian's groin and pushed him back again. This time, Ian stayed away. 

"Mick…"

Mickey shook his head and all but kicked his door open. The cold air was welcome against his flushed skin. He was so worked up that even pacing didn't help. His mind was a mess, pulled between what was right and what he wanted. 

"Why are you fighting this?" Ian asked, now out of the car and coming around to his side. "You want me."

Mickey stopped pacing to look at him. Still as cocky as he had been since they met tonight. "I already told you, Ian. I'm not allowed to do this."

"Do you always do what you're told?"

"You don't know anything about me." Mickey snapped, moving forward until he was in Ian's face. "How about you explain what the fuck is going on with you, hmm? You kiss me the first time and blush like a goddamned virgin and now you're trying to fuck me outside your hotel?"

Ian grinned. "You're sexy as hell when you get all worked up like that."

Mickey actually rolled his eyes like he was in grade school again. Was Ian serious, or did he down a 40 inside the liquor store before coming to the car? It was so confusing. His body knew what he wanted, but his head was like a swarm of flies. 

"Just go inside, I need to get back to work." Mickey went for his door but Ian was blocking it. 

"Go? You said you had to ask me some questions, right?"

"Well, yeah but you don't seem to be in the talking mood."

"I have a lot of moods, Mickey." Ian smiled but held up his hands. "I'll stop and we can talk about whatever you think is so important."

He shouldn't trust it. He didn't trust it. And he was very sure that Ian would try again as soon as possible. Yet, he nodded and Ian gave another smug smile before he went around to his side of the car for his bag and his briefcase.

"Thank you."

Mickey followed him to the door, waiting as he unlocked it. "Yeah, whatever."

Unlike Ian, he couldn't just switch his emotions on and off like that. He couldn't go from normal as they had been at Ian's job, to hot and heavy in the car while Ian tried to fuck him, then cool again, acting like nothing ever happened. He couldn't adapt that fast and wondered how in the hell Ian could.

"Sit anywhere." Ian set the bag on the table. 

Anywhere was the bed, which would be dangerous, and the seats at the table, which was the safest bet, only Ian was standing there. He took the chair, only he slid it away from Ian and sat down.

"I can't tell if I overstepped or not."

"Seriously?" Mickey scoffed. "You just jumped me in my car and you can't tell if that's overstepping or not?"

Ian shrugged. He pulled a bottle of tequila, limes and two shot glasses out of the bag and set them on the table. "Okay, so maybe I went a little fast, but you were right there with me. I could feel it. You wanted it."

He had wanted it. He did want it. 

"And maybe I was tired of swerving through all the tension between us."

Mickey closed his eyes. He didn't want to talk about this. "Just forget it."

"Oh, I'll never forget that." Ian poured tequila in both glasses, sprinkled salt along the rim on one side and pushed a wedge of lime on the rim. "If you don't want it, just say so and it'll never happen again."

The sound of the shot glass sliding over made him open his eyes. He eyed it, knowing he really, really shouldn't, but grabbed it, licked the rim, took the shot and sucked the lime after. It burned in a good way. 

When Ian muttered 'sexy' under his breath, Mickey ignored it. He didn't watch Ian take the shot either. He was still desperately trying to convince himself that he didn't want it. But if he couldn't convince himself, he damn sure couldn't convince Ian. 

"What I want doesn't matter. I'm not allowed to want...that. So, it's better if we just don't, okay?"

Ian poured then another round. "And what about what I want?"

Mickey watched him take that shot, especially the way his tongue licked along the rim of the glass. "I already know what you want."

"Somehow I doubt that." Ian crossed his arms across his chest. "And as for your question about why the kisses were different, why the first one was shy and the other ones weren't."

Mickey nodded, waiting on the edge of his seat. 

"I've wanted you so fucking bad since I first laid eyes on you. I wanted you naked in my bed, I wanted to taste every inch of your body, leave marks in places the entire world would see…"

Mickey gasped a little, his body responding exactly the way it was supposed to. 

"But I knew it wouldn't happen. I knew it couldn't happen. And that kiss, a part of me, let's just say my shy half," Ian laughed for a moment. "That side came out and kissed you. It was soft and sweet and everything I'm not."

Without responding, Mickey narrowed his eyes.

"After that kiss, I realized I could have what I wanted. The urge was becoming too intense, it was all I could think about." Ian loved off the table and turned to face Mickey, looking down at him. "And when I saw you again tonight, I just snapped."

Ian was hard, Mickey could see it and it was so fucking close. He could reach out and grab him if he wanted to, and he wanted to. With his entire being, he wanted to. 

"I'm different then the man who kissed you before. I know what I want, Mickey."

"And I told you it can't happen." He forced the words out. "For all I know, you are still a suspect."

"Oh, really?" Ian asked, surprised but he was grinning. "And here I thought you were on my side."

"I am." 

"Sure as fuck doesn't seem like it."

When Ian went to pull away, he stood and grabbed his arm, then spun him around. "Since this shit started, I've been defending you. Against everyone. My boss, my partner, myself. I've been working my ass off to make sure that we get the person who did this."

"And when you find them," Ian bent down a little until their noses touched. "Give them a fucking medal."

They were head to head yet again and the only thing he could think of was kissing him again. When they were close, that whatever happened between them seemed to fade until all that was left was tension and he was drowning. 

"Why am I a suspect?"

"Because," Mickey countered weakly. "That's what I needed to talk to you about."

"Then talk."

God, he was almost insufferable. It was like he had two personalities at times and kept switching back and forth without a warning and he was forced to keep up. 

"Alright." Mickey took several steps back and already missed the feeling of him so close. "Today, we got in contact with the kid that tutored you back then."

Ian's expression wasn't one he expected. He was shocked, yeah. His mouth parted slightly, green eyes dilating. But he was also impressed. His nostrils flared again, green eyes sparkling and that little smirk in the corner of his mouth. 

"How interesting." Ian licked his lips. "And what did you discover about him?"

"That you met him a week or so before the Moore's were killed. You two met each other at a bar, one that's pretty far for you to drive unless you were in the area."

Ian smiled.

"He said you came onto him, that you spent the night together." He paused, trying to gauge Ian's response, which hadn't changed much the entire night. He was curious, but amused. "He's said you've had an ongoing relationship with him for about a month."

"Well, so much for don't kiss and tell." Ian said, confirming what was said. "He's telling the truth, of course, but I wouldn't call it a relationship. We fuck on occasion."

Mickey shook his head and took another step back. "Why did you tell me you didn't have time for any of that shit when I first asked you if you were seeing anyone?"

Ian shrugged. "I don't like to broadcast my personal or sexual life and really, it's not important enough to reveal. He's a hook up, nothing more."

As cold as Ian sounded, as unphased, Mickey was inclined to believe him. He didn't deny the implications, which would have been a red flag. He just didn't seem to think it was a big deal or worth talking about. 

"So, when you kissed me, you were seeing this guy?" Mickey asked, more to himself. Ian smirked a little, which also confirmed what he said. "And now you're trying to fuck me when you already have him."

"He's not like you, Mickey. He doesn't even compare." 

God, he sounded so pathetic. Coming off as a scorned lover, just like Marlowe said. So what if Ian kissed him and had a fuck buddy. So what if Ian was trying to fuck him even when he had someone. They weren't together. They weren't a couple, or friends really. He had no right to accuse Ian like that, even if it was for work. 

"I might have to have a few words with him about sharing our personal business though." Ian clenched his jaw in annoyance. "I don't like people talking behind my back."

"I didn't really give him a choice." Mickey assured him. "He also said something that I find really weird."

"Oh, and what's that?"

"He said that you asked him to call you a different name." The amused look was gone, leaving him looking angry, irritated. "It was Lip if I remember correctly."

"What, have you never wanted someone you're fucking to call you a specific name in bed?" Ian snapped, accusatory. 

Mickey shrugged, wondering how the switch in Ian's mood would play out in the end. "Yeah, I supposed. Although those are mostly related to sex. I don't normally ask someone to call me by my cousins name."

Real surprise was on Ian's face this time. It didn't replace the anger, but lapped over it. He really seemed shocked that he knew that, or that Robertson spilled the beans that easily. 

"Lip isn't my cousin, he's my brother." 

"He's kinda both." Mickey countered. "Your mom had an affair with his brother, so you have the same mother, just a different father. But what I can't understand is why use a different name at all."

Ian started to pace, up and down between the bed and the table. "The details are meaningless. Brother, cousin, it makes no difference. We aren't close because the entire Gallagher clan basically left me at the hands of abusive people."

Mickey waited, wondering if Ian would address his other question. 

"And I don't know why I gave him another name. Worried that someone would find out, I suppose."

Mickey didn't believe it. Not for a second. "You weren't even in your part of the city, Ian. No one knew you there. You didn't bring home some random. You knew him and still gave him a different name."

Ian stopped pacing once he was beside Mickey. "I told you, I don't know why I gave him another name. But what's that matter anyway? What does that, or he have to do with them getting killed?"

"Just shady behavior for someone who's been cooperative this entire time." Mickey tried to meet his eyes but Ian kept looking away. "Maybe you're hiding something."

"Like what?"

"I have no idea. But I will find out." 

A smile appeared, but didn't reach Ian's eyes. "I'd expect nothing less from you."

Even under suspicion, Ian still had confidence in his ability to make all of this right. If he was guilty of something, he wouldn't be so willing to help and reveal all that information without being forced to. Ian gave it up pretty quickly. 

"Was there anything else you needed to ask me?"

There were probably a million questions he had, but nothing came to mind. So he shook his head no. "I think that's it for now."

Ian's smile returned. "Good, then we can put this all behind us for tonight and drink."

Mickey shook his head. "We both know that's not a good idea."

"I don't know that." Ian said as he turned to pour another round. He picked both shots up and handed Mickey his. "What, can't control yourself drinking tequila?"

"Not around you." He mumbled under his breath and when Ian chuckled, he knew he heard him. "I gotta get back. I still have work to do." He headed towards the door and Ian followed him. "Try not to get smashed. We don't need whoever the fuck is after you busting in here and you're too drunk to do anything about it."

Ian met his eyes and downed both shots, then smirked. "Trust me, I'm not afraid. What I am, is eager to be around you. So, I think you should stay."

"I can't."

"You keep saying that, but I'm not hearing a no."

Ian was standing in front of him again, inches away and the tension was just as thick as it had been in the car. There was so much potential but it would most likely end in disaster. 

Mickey turned, reaching for the door. "Call me if you need anything."

Before he could open the door, Ian was firmly pressed against his back, from shoulder to thigh. Mickey swallowed his moan, then forced himself to remain still and not push his ass back to feel him.

"Stay." Ian whispered, his hands moved to Mickey's sides, pulling him back a little. "Give me a chance."

"Ian…"

"Don't say you can't because I know you can." His hands slid forward. "I know you want to."

As he was about to say he can't, yet again, Ian's mouth was against his ear. He didn't move, or kiss it or bite it, just rested his mouth against it and Mickey could feel him breathing, hot air that had goosebumps spreading along every inch of his body. 

"This is going to happen, Mickey. I can feel it."

Unable to say no, or move away, he was forced to listen to what he had to say, forced to endure Ian's hands on his body. Tempting him.

Ian gripped his heavy jacket and peeled it back. He rolled his shoulders, helping, which had Ian chuckling smugly into his ear. Then next was his suit jacket. Ian's hands moved sensually over his slides, then forward to quickly undo all the little buttons on his shirt before he pulled up, untucking it. 

"Say yes."

Mickey groaned at the first feel of bare hands against his chest. His shirt hung open and Ian's hands roamed confidently across his body. He couldn't keep saying no, not with Ian touching him. It was too hard. He was too hard. 

"Yes." 

Ian growled in his ear before he bit it. "I am going to take you apart, detective."

Before he had a chance to give a snappy reply that would probably just tickle Ian pink, he was being forced head first into the door. He had time to brace himself with his hands and turn his head to the side before Ian was rutting against his ass. Pushing so hard his hips clacked against the door.

"Hope you don't mind it hard." Ian hands slid to his gun belt, feeling the leather, then gripped his gun and Mickey gasped.

"Don't." Mickey gasped, a slice of fear washing through him until Ian took his gun and set it on the small table next to them.

"I know how to handle a gun, don't woeey." Ian yanked Mickey's slacks apart, then broke the zipper peeling them open. He pushed his hand inside, rubbing him. "I haven't had the urge to go hard in years, but with you…"

"Do it." Mickey groaned, breaking his silence. He pushed forward into Ian's hand, then back against his cock. "Before I change my mind."

"You wouldn't dare."

This Ian wasn't the same as the other Ian. He knew it. There was something wrong, something very, very wrong and he'd been feeling it for the last two hours. He couldn't pinpoint what it was, but the shy, blushing Ian he knew, was not who was about to fuck him. 

It was rough, it was raw. Ian was blunt about every single thing he said, like he couldn't help but say the nastiest stuff. Stuff that he liked, stuff that had his body turning into a live wire, stuff that had his cock begging for attention. He wouldn't deny liking it, he wouldn't even deny that sex was about to happen, but something was wrong. 

"It might happen here against the door." Ian used one foot, hooked it into Mickey's slacks and pulled them the rest of the way down. He used his other hand to do the same to his boxers. "If you arch your back and spread your legs, I can get in nice and deep."

That made his entire body tingle. "Just do it."

"Take the rest of your clothes off." Ian demanded as he stepped away and began peeling his own off. "Show me what I need to see."

Mickey kicked off his shoes, then his pants and boxer, then reached back and peeled his shirt off. He didn't turn, even when he wanted to see him, even when he was desperate to touch him, to taste him. He put his head against the door, his hands bracing himself and spread his legs. 

"Fuck, look at you." Ian slapped the side of his ass, growling at the red mark that appeared. "I knew you'd look good naked. I fucking knew it. The suit hides it very well."

He wanted to know what Ian's body looks like. He wanted to see pale skin and I'd those cute freckles were all over his body like they were on his shoulders. He wanted to see his long legs bare, his perky ass. He had no doubt that he would probably be the best looking guy he'd ever see naked before. 

"Let's get you ready for me, hmm?"

Mickey nodded but didn't hear anything to indicate Ian was bringing out lube to do just that. No crinkling bags or the pop of a cap. It was only when Ian knelt down that he realized what he meant. Large hands gripped his ass, squeezing hard before pushing them apart. 

"Ian." Mickey gasped, accidentally letting the sound out. 

"Fuck, I can't wait until you say that when I'm in you." Ian kissed over his cheeks, then bit one until Mickey gasped. "Especially when you come."

Embarrassingly enough, his legs began to shake. He had to fight not to let his knees buckle, and kept them locked as Ian kissed across his ass again. 

"Spread a little wider." Ian coached, helping him with a firm grip. "Thick as fuck, detective. I kinda want you to smother me with them."

One hand slid down the door, puting pressure on the other. He gripped his cock, instantly pushing into his hand. "Just shut the hell up and get on with it."

Ian smacked his ass again. "Keep it up, I like em fiesty." 

Before his next snappy comeback, which would probably be him telling Ian to forget the entire thing, his hips were pulled back and Ian's tongue wiggled between his cheeks. 

"Oh, fuck." He inhaled sharply, pushing back because all that control he had, just snapped. Ian's tongue was eagerly licking across him, swirling all around before the tip pushed in. "Ian."

Ian growled, working his jaw deeper. He squeezed Mickey's cheeks around his face, then pulled them apart. 

It had been a long time since he was this intimate with sex. Normally it was a one night stand where everything was a little chaotic and blurry due to too much alcohol. He never allowed someone to eat him before and now it was the only thing he wanted. 

"Oh, my God." Mickey moaned again, stroking himself at the same speed. His mouth was dry from hanging open. His legs split wider, his ass pushed back further and Ian just growled. "Don't stop."

Ian pulled back quickly. "Oh, I won't. But you're gonna help me. Work yourself back."

Then Ian was back between his cheeks. Going harder, faster, pushing every inch of his tongue inside. With another broken moan, he gripped the sides of the door frame and pushed back on purpose. They moved in perfect rhythm, Ian pulling, him pushing, both of them moaning.

It wasn't long before he felt a finger against him. Teasing his rim, rubbing it, tracing it around Ian's tongue. Within seconds, it was being pushed inside. He yelped, but it turned into another broken moan.

"Hurry." Mickey begged, panting, sweating, shaking. 

Another finger was added, being wettened by Ian's tongue. They pushed in deep, making his entire body move forward towards the door. Ian was forced to pull his mouth back, panting against his ass as he kissed and bit over it. 

"You are so tight." Ian watched his fingers get squeezed. "How long's it been?"

"Years."

"Oh, you poor thing." Ian stood, still working his fingers in but put his mouth next to Mickey's ear again. "You should be fucked well and often."

Becoming as needy as he seemed, his head dropped back against Ian's shoulder. When he turned, Ian's lips were pressed against his own, his tongue was sliding into his mouth, allowing him to taste himself. He whimpered into the kiss, moving one hand back to slide over Ian's neck, then his jaw, then into long red hair. 

The kiss continued even when Ian slid another finger into him. Three was more than he was used to, but he loved it. He pushed against his fingers, he kept his legs wide open, telling him he needed more. 

"I think you're ready for me." Ian said, breaking the kiss to bit his neck. 

Mickey kept his hand in Ian's hair, desperate to keep him close. "Fuck me."

"Say it again." Ian growled, he pulled back enough to spit on his cock and spread it around. 

"Fuck me, Ian. Please." 

Ian grinned, slowly pushing in. "So polite."

Spit was never his go to for lube, it dried too quickly. But he wouldn't even think about stopping to get some. He was more worked up than he'd ever been before and it was starting to get painful. And none of it mattered the moment Ian was inside him, not all the way, barely even the head but his entire body sagged against the door. 

"I know it feels good, but you gotta brace your legs."

Mickey released Ian and gripped the door frame again. His legs were locked, his ass was out and within seconds, Ian gripped both of his hips and pushed all the way in. He hissed, his ass clenched and am embarrassing moan creeped up his throat. 

"Yes, fuck, yes." Ian growled, he took a deep breath, shut his eyes and gave him a few seconds before he was relentlessly pounding into him. 

"Ian," Mickey whined, "it feels so fucking good."

"Yes, it does. I'm glad no one has fucked you recently, then you wouldn't be so tight for me." He leaned back, looking down to watch. "I wish you could see this."

Ian was ruthless. He didn't give him time to adjust to praise him with sweet words. No, he had a crushing grip, forced him to adjust and was drilling into him. Literally the only thing he could do was hold on to whatever helped keep him upright, the door, Ian's thighs.

What made it ten times better than normal sex, aside from Ian being drop dead gorgeous, were his words. Those nasty, bold, cocky words that somehow made it better. Maybe it was the authority Ian seemed to have over him that made it better. Or maybe it was all of those things.

Either way, Ian was a heathen. Thrusting hard and fast and deep, pinning him to the door, kicking his legs apart when he closed them, gripping his hips when he needed more leverage. He said all those nasty things in his ear, demeaning things. 

"I won't last." Mickey was back to stroking himself, whining as he panted against the door. "I'm already close."

"I've been close." Ian slowed, twisting his hips at an angle that had Mickey inhaling deeply. "But you don't get to come unless you say my name."

Normally power play during sex was a turn off. He didn't like being told what to do by guys, or girls, or anyone really. Especially when his normal fuck sessions were quickies in a semi public place. But with Ian, God, it was just different. It sent a chill down his spine and had his orgasm threatening to run right over him. 

So, he gave in. "Ian, please."

Ian growled and moved one hand to his throat, squeezing until those sounds were muffled. "I'm not Ian. I don't want to hear that from you."

He didn't slow down but sped up until it felt like he'd cry. "Make me come."

"Don't you want to know my name?"

Confused, but incoherent, Mickey nodded. Anything to get that relief. 

"My name is Malcolm." Ian said into his ear. So quietly that he thought he imagined it. "Say it, please. I need to hear it so bad."

Malcolm? Who the hell was Malcolm? 

"Please, Malcolm." Mickey hated that name, he hated the way it sounded but he said it again and again until Ian was whimpering into his ear.

Just as soon as his mind started to wander, trying to figure out what the hell that meant, Ian's other hand moved on top of his and together they stroked him until he came. It was powerful, it was incredible and he couldn't stop.

"Normally I'd ask if I need to pull out but for you…" he growled and it rattled his teeth. "I think my big, badass detective needs a creampie."

If he could come again, he would have. And aside from not actually coming, his body reacted the same as if he did. He seized up, his body shaking, his cock dripping. 

"Oh yeah, you do." Ian closed his eyes, trembling against his back. "Fuck, fuck."

He felt everything. Every single second of it. Ian came inside of him, still moving fast and deep, pushing it all the way inside. The hand around his neck tightened to the point where he saw spots of light, a hint that Ian needed to let up a little, but didn't until he peeled his hand off. 

The room was quiet except for the sounds they made. Just Ian's deep panting, along with his soft gasps everytime Ian twitched. Mickey shut his eyes and laid his head against the door while Ian kissed along his back. He was exhausted. Working all day, then the emotional rollercoaster being around Ian, then the sex and he was fucking exhausted.

"Goddamn, that was just…" a tremor rolled through Ian's body. "I've never been so satisfied before."

Mickey allowed himself to smile for a moment, a single moment of pride, until all those questions came floating to the front of his mind. "Who's Malcolm?"

Ian laughed, stroking his sides as he pulled out. "I already told you."

Mickey's lower back ached as he was released from his position. He put a hand to his back and turned. Ian was leaning against the table lighting a cigarette. "That one of your kinks? Having people call you different names?"

Ian shook his head, inhaling a deep drag before he blew it out his nose. "I have many kinks, but no. That's not one of them."

"Then why ask me to call you that?" Mickey asked, he bent down to pick up his clothes, cleaned up with his boxers and put his slacks on bare. He was dressed within minutes and when he turned to look at Ian, he was smirking, almost like he was laughing at an inside joke. "Lip, Malcolm…. seems like you enjoy being someone else."

"Oh, no. I enjoy being me." Ian took the bottle of tequila and drank from the rim. "And just because you're an amazing lay, I'll go ahead and tell you the truth."

An amazing lay...great. The compliment he was looking for. 

"Ian has been wanting to do that since he met you."

Mickey narrowed his eyes. Ian was talking in the third person now?

"Oh, he's had it bad, Detective. All his thoughts are filled with you, the light flirting, the kiss, you protecting him from the big bad man after him." He laughed. "I get to hear all about his wants and needs and they all revolve around you."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Mickey asked, his voice a little deeper than he meant it to be. Something that happened when he was afraid. "Why are you acting like this?"

"Because I'm sick of pretending. Do you know how hard it is to pretend to be someone you're not?" Ian shook his head. "I'm stuck inside him 90% of the time but when I come out, fuck, it's like I'm free again and I never want to go back."

Ian was acting like a different person, because he was a different person. 

"Still confused?" Ian asked, enjoying his moment. "How about we do this formally so it's clean and clear." He moved off the table and walked up to him. "Detective Milkovich, it's a pleasure meeting you for the first time. My name is Malcolm."

Mickey took a step back. He didn't know what was happening. This wasn't Ian, but it was and he was freaking the fuck out. Ian knew he needed an explanation, which he gave, but Mickey didn't know if he believed it. 

"Ian takes a little vacation when he's under too much stress. Or when he's far too upset to deal with the hassles of life. So, I take over." He ran a hand down his chest, smirking. "I help Ian deal with all those pesky little things in his life that want to hurt him. I take care of him. I've done it since he was a child and I am always here when he needs me."

Mickey knew what this was and he wondered why he'd been so blind to it. All the evidence was there, he only had to open his eyes and see past Ian's kind personality. Because he had another one and this one wasn't so kind. 

"Jesus Christ." Mickey whispered and took another step back. He felt the need to hold his gun but Ian...no, Malcom hadn't given him a reason to. Yet. "You killed the Moore's."

Malcolm grinned. "Yes, I did. I should have done it a long time ago, but he was just a boy."

He just had sex with a killer. 

"Why didn't Ian tell me?" Mickey asked. He was in shock, he could feel it. He should have been running or trying to apprehend him, not talking. "I believed he was innocent."

"Oh, detective, my Ian is very innocent. Unlike me, he doesn't know that I'm here. He just gets a little headache sometimes, then falls asleep and I come out to play. I do what needs to be done, I give him a much needed break and when he wakes up, he has no memory of anything I do."

Malcolm killed the Moore's. Malcom threatened Ian's neighbor. He'd been after a killer this entire time, only to have met him that first day. They bonded, they trusted each other, they even liked each other and the entire time, the man he was hunting was with him. 

"The look on your face is priceless." Malcolm walked forward and Mickey took a step back. "Please don't be afraid, gorgeous. I know you knew something was off about me today. I know you felt it."

Mickey didn't answer but Malcom knew he wouldn't and kept talking. 

"Ian doesn't fuck like that. Ian is a soft, sweet boy who likes slow, meaningful sex." Malcolm groaned. "And while that's nice sometimes, I know everyone enjoys sex like we had tonight."

As if waiting on demand, his body pulsed, feeling Ian inside him again. No, not Ian, but Malcolm. Everything he enjoyed about that sex, how rough it was, how emotionless, all those dirty words...that had been Malcolm. 

"Why?" Mickey asked, his voice soft. He wasn't asking about the Moore's because he understood that. He was asking about him. "Why me?"

Malcolm cupped Mickey's cheek, surprised when he allowed it. "Ian wouldn't have made that first move all by himself, so I did it for him. He may not remember in detail about our time together, but his body, our body will remember."

When Malcolm turned away, Mickey rubbed a hand across his face. It felt like he was caught in some kind of nightmare. One he couldn't get out of no matter how hard he tried. And even when it all made sense, he still hoped he would wake up in a few hours and it would really be a bad dream. 

"You look like you can use this." 

Mickey turned and Malcolm handed him another shot. Without asking, he downed it and wished he could get blackout drunk. Malcolm smiled that secret smile again, then leaned against the table. 

He would soon realize that taking that shot was a mistake. Within a few minutes of taking it, he knew he'd been drugged. His body was heavy, his skin burning up, he was sweating, with blurred vision. He couldn't even stand up straight. He sagged against the door, even tried going for his gun. But he didn't make it very far. Malcolm was there, taking it away from him like he was a child and all while wearing that cunning, self satisfied smile. 

"Don't fight it, detective." Malcolm helped him to the bed, stroking his hair back as he did so. "I won't hurt you. Believe me, that's what I came here to do. You were getting too close, being too smart for your own good. I'm sure you'd have figured it out."

"You were going to kill me?" Mickey asked with slurred speech. He was leaning on him, unable to fight. 

"Yes, I was." Malcolm laid him down and peeled off his shoes. "I decided not to because you have been very good to him. You're protecting him, even when you didn't know it was me. The only thing I've ever wanted was for him to be safe."

Mickey couldn't move and Malcolm was blurry, his image fading in and out like his voice. "I'd never hurt him. I care about him."

"Yes, you so. Which is why you are alive." Malcolm palmed Mickey's handcuffs and cuffed him to the slats in the bed. "I can't have you trying to kill me right now, or take me in, so you're gonna take a little nap and in the morning, our boy will be back."

Ian. He just wanted Ian. 

"Ian." Mickey moaned, reaching out to Malcom only for him to laugh, one that echoed in his mind and pull away. "I need him."

"And he needs me. Sweet dreams, detective. This has been fun."

Mickey didn't know if anything else was said or done. He was slipping away, falling into that pit of darkness.   
Ian was gone, Malcom was gone and he had no idea how to bring himself out of it.


	7. Fractured

Beneath The Surface  
Chapter 7– Fractured 

Mickey had been awake for close to twenty minutes. He dredged through all that fog from whatever Malcolm gave him and realized he was still in Ian’s hotel room, handcuffed to the bed. His head was pounding, the bright light shining through the open curtain didn’t help ease the ache between his eyes, his arms were burning from being held above his head too long, his ass gave a delicious pulse from how rough the sex had been last night—even with a deranged psycho—it had been incredible. It took him ten minutes to realize he couldn’t get himself out of those cuffs, he pulled and tugged until his wrists were raw, then settled back before he got too worked up. 

Ian was beside him, sleeping like the dead. He was relieved it was Ian and not Malcolm but Ian was still very naked and unlike the sex where he couldn’t see his body, he could now and it was hard to keep his eyes off him. Smooth skin with all those little freckles spread around, his chest was just as magnificent as it had been last night when he saw him shirtless at work, as was the sweep of his abdomen, leading to a tight, hard six pack. The cut of his hips was very defined, enough to dip his thumbs into without difficulty. The hardest thing to look away from was his cock. It lay hard and proud against his stomach, thick enough to make his jaw sore and long enough to satisfy all those urges he had. Whenever Ian breathed, his cock would move a little before it settled until that next breath, every now and then the tip would gather wetness. It never fell, as he assumed it would—as he hoped it would—but stayed there, teasing him. Otherwise he didn’t move.

Unlike Malcolm, Ian looked peaceful, harmless. Those soft eyes were closed, showing pale lids that moved back and forth as he dreamed whatever dream. He laid on his side, facing him, his legs bent at an angle, one arm under his face, the other palm down on the bed. Considering it was Malcolm who must have left Ian just like that, it meant he’d been watching him for some time until sleep took over and Ian came back. What had happened when he passed out, what had Malcolm done? Did he simply watch him sleep until his time ran out or did he leave, do some horrible thing and come back to sleep beside him? There was no way to know for sure unless Malcolm told him himself, or another crime was reported that had the same feel as all the other ones. 

It was unsettling and it had Mickey fighting to free himself again. He dug his feet into the bed for leverage, pulled both arms down towards his head and used every ounce of strength possible to see if one of those slats would break and free him. His keys, complete with the key for the cuffs, were on the nightstand beside him, three inches away and he couldn’t reach them. He needed to get out, he needed to get away, to take Ian into custody until he could figure out this split personality thing. Marlowe had been waiting on him last night, he was due at the precinct first thing this morning, someone would notice he wasn’t there and come looking. They couldn’t catch him cuffed to Ian’s bed with Ian naked and passed out beside him. That would raise too many questions and probably get his ass booted off the case. 

Mickey couldn’t imagine what Malcolm would do if someone else was on Ian’s case. It was bad enough that he was planning to kill him last night, but changed his mind for whatever reason. Marlowe wouldn’t be so lucky, she wouldn’t last seconds with her state of mine concerning Ian. The moment Malcolm realized she was suspicious of Ian, she would die. Mickey couldn’t have that. He had to stay on Ian’s case and figure out a way to help him before more people died. The only good thing about this was that he no longer had to search for a mysterious killer, he knew exactly where he was, nestled deep inside the subconscious of an innocent man, a good man. 

“Ian,” Mickey gave in and decided to see if he could wake him up. It was dangerous because Ian wouldn’t remember what they’d done, Ian wouldn’t know why he was cuffed to the bed, or why he was the only one naked. Mickey had a hard time believing the split personality thing, how could he convince Ian? “Ian, I need you to wake up.

Ian shifted in the bed, rolling towards him until his head was almost resting on his shoulder. He snuggled deeper into his pillow, eyes closed, looking peaceful. It didn’t seem like Ian would be awake any time soon. 

Without knowing what else to do, Mickey kept pulling on the cuffs and just when he was about to give up and start screaming, the slat snapped with a rather loud sound. Ian didn’t even move and he was able to slip the chain of the cuffs off the broken pieces. He sat up, both arms sore as they popped back into place. Now free, he turned to the side table and found his keys, unlocked himself and moved far away from the bed. It was unnerving being that close to Ian, knowing what was inside him. He couldn’t just sit there. 

Mickey quickly put his shoes back on, made sure he had his gun that had been taken, thankfully Malcolm left it on the dresser, checked both pockets for his keys and wallet and his jacket was on the back of the chair by the door. The bottle of tequila and two shot glasses was evidence that Ian had been drinking with someone, so he took one and slipped it into the pocket of his jacket. That way it would look like Ian drank alone. He didn’t know why he did it, but somewhere along the way he made the conscious choice to keep whatever happened last night a secret from Ian. Maybe he needed more proof it was real, or he could have drank too much and passed out. There was no way to tell. 

After putting his jacket on, Mickey pulled the sheet over Ian’s naked body, then let himself out quietly. The first thing he did was check his phone and like he expected, he had many missed calls from his captain and Marlowe wondering where the hell he was and to call before he got his ass suspended. Mickey called his captain first, dreading this call less than the next one.

“Well, look at that. Thank you for gracing me with your call, Detective.”

Mickey shut his eyes. “Sorry, sir. I was sitting on my witness last night to make sure we didn’t get another victim. I didn’t get in until late and must have overslept.” It amazed him how easy he lied, he almost believed it himself. “I’m on the way right now.”

“You’re lucky this is your first time being late in the past five years. But you only get one. I have your partner working overtime and she said she expected you last night.”

It didn’t matter how mad Marlowe was, she would never rat him out unless her hand was forced. Which meant he threatened to suspend her if she didn’t give a play by play of last night. She didn’t have a choice and he could and did forgive her. 

“We were supposed to do a background check on our other suspect. I gave the witness a ride back to his hotel and felt like we were being followed so I stayed.” Mickey lied yet again and knew this would bite him in the ass. “I will call her and get back to work ASAP.”

“She better collect your check for this one then. We got a new crime scene this morning and it matches that of your other victims. She’s there now.”

Another case? More victims? God, Malcolm. It was too much to hope for that he stayed inside and was a good little psycho. No, instead he went out and killed someone else. 

“Jesus.” Mickey rubbed his head, it still pounded from whatever he’d been drugged with. “Who’s the victim?”

“The witness you two interviewed yesterday, Tate Robertson was found dead in his home early this morning.”

Fuck, Malcolm probably killed him for giving them too much information on their hookup. He almost expected that but not that fast. He thought maybe they’d be able to put Robertson in protective custody. It was his fault, Mickey knew that. He’s the one that spilled the beans on what went down, giving Malcolm a reason to silence him.

“I’m headed there now.”

“Good. Now no more fuck ups on this. Put a uniform on your victim. You can’t be his personal babysitter.”

Unlike Marlowe giving him the exact same speech, this was an order. He didn’t have a choice unless he wanted to lose his job. “I’ll call the precinct now and wait for an officer, then I’ll be there.” The call ended without a goodbye and Mickey felt like a failure. He never did this kind of shit, he was always at the top of his game until now. 

His phone rang again and this time it was Marlowe, probably calling to give him the same lecture and tear yet another hole in his ass. He deserved it, which is why he answered. 

“Hey, I’m waiting for a uniformed officer to get here then I’m gonna meet you.” He got right to the point, even when he knew she would ask anyway. 

“I’ve been calling you all fucking night, Mick. I waited for you.”

“I’m sorry.” Mickey meant his apology. “I was with Ian, trying to get some information and went home and fell asleep.”

“Well, that’s just great. You take a power nap and our only viable suspect gets killed. You better get your ass here because I’m not doing this shit alone again.”

To say she was mad was an understatement. She was pissed, his captain was pissed, they had another murder and he spent the night with their killer and couldn’t tell anyone. Even knowing that he needed to leave like ten minutes ago, he went to the door, tried to stop his erratic heart beat, then knocked loudly, almost pounding on the door. It was a bad idea to see Ian right now, he wasn’t sure he could school his expressions to appear normal, like nothing happened because to Ian, nothing did happen. He should wait until later but he was in deep shit at work and probably wouldn’t be able to see him later. 

While he waited, knocking for a second time, Mickey did as he said he would do and called the precinct and ordered someone to watch Ian’s hotel room, then follow him to work, or give him a ride, whichever Ian wanted. There was no reason to keep him under surveillance anymore but he was the only one who knew that and couldn’t just tell someone. To Ian and Marlowe, he was still a target and needed to be treated as such. By the time he was done and on his third knock, he heard Ian grunt in annoyance and hoped to God he didn’t come to the door naked. 

The door opened and Mickey took a step back. Ian stood at the door looking like a Greek god, complete with a toga around his hips, where he’d just wrapped the sheet haphazardly around himself. His eyes looked like they were super glued closed, he had to fight to open them and seconds later they would shut, he had dark bags under them like he hadn’t slept a wink—and he didn’t. When Malcolm had control it was still Ian’s body and murdering yet another person had to be physically exhausting. It took Ian a moment to realize who he was, then he smiled in that shy way. 

“Morning,” Mickey began, smiling a little himself. “I know it’s early.”

“How early exactly?”

With a look at his watch, he was surprised to find it only a little after seven. “I guess not too early but it feels earlier than I’d like for house calls.”

“You wanna come in?” Ian stepped to the side, still squinting. “I can’t see shit.”

Against his better judgement, he went inside and Ian closed the door and walked back to sit on the edge of the bed. Mickey stayed by the door, ready to make a run for it if Ian’s other side decided to come out again. “Long night?”

“Actually, I’m not really sure.” Ian rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “I remember being at work, but the rest is a blur.”

Whatever reaction he’d been hoping for didn’t leave him with any relief. He wanted Ian to remember what happened but was thankful he didn’t. It left him on edge all the same. “You called me after work, asked for a ride back here.”

“I guess that explains how the hell I got back here but not why I’m naked.” Ian looked up, eyes turned into slits. Even the soft lighting was harsh. “Please tell me we didn’t have sex.”

That almost sounded like regret. Which should be the reason he lied and told him they didn’t, which he was planning on doing. Only now that Ian asked, not telling him felt worse than a simple lie. He didn’t have sex with Ian, but with Malcolm, only they shared the same fucking body and he didn’t know how that worked out in the long run. 

The truth it was. “Actually we did.”

Ian’s eyes widened, his mouth dropping open. “We did?”

Mickey nodded, seeing no recollection in Ian’s eyes. “We drank a little and talked, then one thing led to another…” he shrugged, no longer feeling weird about his mixed feelings on the subject. Telling Ian was the right thing to do because if he found out by himself and confronted him about the lie...it could get ugly. “I take it you don’t remember that either?”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Ian put his throbbing head into his hands, halfway bent over the bed. “I’m sorry, detective, but no. I don’t remember.”

The way Ian said ‘detective’ wasn’t like Malcolm said it but it still gave him a rather heated feeling in his gut, like a reminder. As if he could ever forget that. Now his body pulsed. No matter what, he’d enjoyed it. 

“I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t worry, Ian. I’ve been drunk a time or two and don’t remember what happened or who it happened with.”

Ian stood, grabbing the sheet before it exposed the lower half of his body. “No, I mean I’m sorry I don’t remember.”

He hadn’t been expecting that. 

“I can’t lie and say I haven’t thought about it, I just didn’t count on being smashed if it actually happened.” Ian felt his face heat, his blush spreading to his neck. “Fuck, I’m really sorry.” 

Mickey felt his own face heat and knew Ian could probably see it. “It wasn’t supposed to happen anyway. I could get in a lot of trouble if someone finds out.”

Ian was quick to answer, sounding almost desperate. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“Thanks, I’d appreciate it.” Mickey had to look away from that intense stare. It was like Ian was trying to remember just by looking in his eyes and it was making him squirm. “I wanted to tell you that I can’t take you to work today. We’ve had a development in the case and I’m gonna be pretty booked. I have an officer on the way to make sure you’re safe.”

“No, I understand. Thank you.” Ian waited a minute, unsure if he wanted to know but he had to. “Was it good?”

Mickey blushed harder, his body remembering every punishing thrust. It made it hard to breathe, hard to think. It felt like his skin was stretched too tight. “It was better than good.”

Ian smiled a little. “I’m so fucking mad I don’t remember.”

They needed to move on from this conversation ASAP but Ian seemed determined to get more information out of him because the questions kept on coming. 

“Was last night a fluke, like just because of the drinking?”

“I think it had a lot to do with it because it wasn’t planned or anything.” Mickey said it in such a way that Ian caught on, meaning they hadn’t had what they would have needed. “But it wasn’t the only reason it happened. I’m sure you’re aware of the tension between us.”

Ian took a step forward, coming closer. “Yeah, but I thought it was just me.”

“It’s not.”

“Good.” Ian stepped just before they could touch and his eyes found Mickey’s lips. “Does that mean it’ll happen again? Because I won’t be drinking.”

Sex with Ian, he wanted. Sex with Malcolm he shouldn’t have had. He said so himself, that Ian didn’t have sex like that. That he was a soft, compassionate lover, not fucking him raw against the door—even when that’s just what he needed in that moment. 

Now he was flustered. “I’m not sure, really. If it does...just if, it needs to be when this case is over. I can’t be involved like that.”

“I understand.” Ian was still looking at his lips. “I’m really trying to remember, at least something about what happened. Anything.”

There wasn’t a hint of Malcolm in Ian’s eyes, in his voice, his body language. It wasn’t aggressive and blunt and pushy. It was just Ian. Innocent, sweet, amazing Ian, desperately trying to remember being with him. It was for that reason that Mickey took that last step, his eyes finding Ian’s, then cupped one side of his face and brought him down to his mouth for a kiss. It was just like that first one, soft and sweet and Ian gave a little gasp before kissing him back, his hand sliding to the back of his neck to hold on. It lasted long enough to make his entire body ignite with fire. He pulled back, mesmerized by Ian’s slick lips and patted the side of his cheek. 

“Mickey…”

Mickey put his thumb to Ian’s lips, keeping him from saying anything else. Something that might tempt him into staying and trying to recreate what happened. “I gotta go.”

“Okay.” Ian licked his lips, but didn’t let go. “Be careful.”

The only thing he needed to be careful with was Malcolm. “I will. You too. Let the officer help, it’s his job. I’ll see if I can call you later on.”

“Yeah, please do.”

Just as he pulled away, headed for the door, Ian tightened his grip just enough to pull him in for another kiss. Nothing deep, just another like the previous few. It was powerful enough to knock him down if Ian didn’t have a hold of him. Moments later he was being released, receiving an intense look as he opened the door and let the light in. Ian didn’t even blink, he just watched him, and for a moment Mickey wondered if Malcolm was just below the surface, watching him too. 

**

An hour later had Mickey stepping out of his car with a hot cup of coffee and a half eaten breakfast burrito. He had to gas up after leaving Ian’s room and his stomach hadn’t shut up the entire time. He grabbed something quick to eat on the ride to Joliet, and tossed the wrapper into his car. 

Tate Robertson’s house was a lot like the Moore’s had been. The entire place from the sidewalk and around the back of the property was sectioned off with yellow police tape. The street was also blocked off to everyone aside from law enforcement, keeping the lookie-loos out. Officers were shuffling people in the surrounding area back into their houses, they kept the media vans parked at the front of the subdivision, trying to maintain the evidence inside. Aside from all the cops cars, there was a fire truck, an ambulance and the coroner's van. 

Mickey put a smoke between his lips as he walked over. He had to flash his badge to the officer at the front, the guy didn’t believe him when he said he was a detective and in plain clothes, it was hard to tell. He was ushered in after a moment and stubbed out his half smoked cigarette on the bottom of his boot before he tucked it into his pocket. 

Unlike their first crime scene, this one didn’t have blood sprayed all over the walls. As he walked in, he noticed that everything looked just as it had when they were there yesterday. A few things were different, a cup of coffee on the table in the living room, a blanket tossed over the back like Robertson spent his morning watching the news like every other person. There was no bloody trail of footprints or writing on the ceiling. He almost expected this to be a hoax before Marlowe walked out of the dining room wearing gloves, the fingers tipped in red. 

She was not happy to see him. No smile or friendly nod. Nothing but that blue steel glare. Mickey expected that much and didn’t bother with a smile or a hello or unimportant small talk. He did what he could, he apologized already and got there as soon as possible. It was up to her if she would accept it or not. And she didn’t look as if she would any time soon. 

“What do you have?” Mickey asked and took the gloves an officer handed him. He tucked his coffee into his elbow and slid one on, then held the cup in the other. 

“You should have a look.” Marlowe said and stepped around him. 

Mickey moved quickly into the dining. It seemed all fine and normal until he got a clear view of the room. The table set was large, able to seat at least six people comfortably. The high backed chairs were empty, except for one. Robertson sat at the head of the table, his back to the large set of windows. He was tied to the chair, a rope holding him up by a tight grip around his torso, his arms. His head hung down, with nothing to hold it in place. The table itself was empty, no food or coffee or papers. 

The rest of the room was spotless, or so he thought. He quickly did another pass and noticed something on the kitchen counter, just through the small doorway. It looked to be a plate of some kind, he couldn’t see what was on it but he could see blood. It was dark against the pristine white countertop. Marlowe joined him moments later and he didn’t have to ask her again. 

“The coroner said TOD was around six this morning.”

At four, he and Malcolm were having sex, then his ass was drugged, leaving that psycho time to drive half an hour, kill Robertson and be back in time to fall asleep before Mickey woke up to Ian at seven.

“Cause of death?” Mickey asked as he slowly moved around the table, towards the body. 

“He drowned, oddly enough.”

Mickey looked back at her. “How?”

“Did you see what was on the counter?”

“No.”

“Well, then you should.”

Abandoning the body, he couldn’t see much with the way it was posed, aside from blood in his lap and on the edge of the table, he moved through the doorway and into the kitchen. He noticed drops of blood leading from one room to another in a thin trail, but nowhere else. The counter came into view and he hadn’t been ready to see it. The dish on the counter matched the one under the coffee cup in the living room, only a little larger. In the middle sat Robertson’s tongue. His entire tongue. Long and bloody. 

“Jesus.” Mickey shook his head in distaste. 

Marlowe came up beside him. “The coroner is pretty sure his tongue was removed when he was still alive. It’s likely that he drowned on his own blood.”

He heard the words, but was having a hard time believing that Malcolm would torture Robertson simply because he willingly gave up information about him and Ian. It had to be true, because they now had a body and Malcolm warned him he’d be having a word with Robertson. A word, that was all it was supposed to be. 

“Now he’s torturing people.” Mickey swallowed thickly and backed away from the counter. His entire body was getting hot, panic creeping in slowly. He should tell Marlowe, he should warn her and everyone else because Malcolm was now a serial killer. When he tried, the words wouldn’t come and he was left standing there with his mouth open. “Who called it in?”

“He was expected at the school first thing this morning for a meeting and when he didn’t show and wouldn’t answer the door, one of the other teachers did a drive by and found the door open. It looked suspicious and she called the cops. They found him like this.”

The tongue itself was a warning. Marlowe had to know that. Robertson was killed for talking to them.

“It can’t be a confidence that he’s dead the day after he spoke with us. Just like this guy warning Gallagher’s neighbor about talking to us, only now we have another body.”

Mickey couldn’t stand to look at it a moment longer, not even from across the room. He moved back into the dining room and busied himself with the body. Those words still wouldn’t come. “Maybe we are thinking about this all wrong. Maybe he isn’t after Ian. If he was, it would be easy to nab him outside his work, or the hotel room and he hasn’t.”

“Well we already know he’s infatuated with him. Do you think it’s something more?”

“It has to be, right? He protected Ian from the Moore’s, scared the neighbor for talking to us, killed Robertson for talking too much. This guy has to either be in love with him, or related to him. He’s protecting him.” Mickey felt like such an asshole for lying but he didn’t know what else to do. Ian shouldn’t suffer for what Malcolm did. “But we know how this turns out. Eventually he’s going to want Ian for himself.”

“Obsession is dangerous. It will lead to Gallagher being hurt or killed, depending on how he reacts once the perp realizes Gallagher isn’t who he thought he was. He’ll reject him, say or do something the perp didn’t expect and his fantasy will be ruined.”

That was exactly it. Only Ian and their perp were one in the same. He literally couldn’t separate them and Malcolm couldn’t be brought to justice without dragging Ian along with him and that wasn’t right, but neither were three dead bodies—even if two deserved it.

“Okay, so what do we do then?” Marlowe asked and circled the table. “It’s clear this guy isn’t going to stop. And we can’t keep working the case and have all of our suspects and witnesses drop dead the next day and we can’t keep Gallagher locked away the rest of his life.”

Mickey stood and peeled the gloves off, avoiding her eyes because one look at him and she’d know he was lying out of his ass. “No, we can’t. Ian might need to be in full protective custody until we are done.”

“I don’t think the captain is going to approve the funds for that.”

“He might now.” Mickey motioned to their body. “He isn’t going to stop. And I’m not even sure moving Ian is the right way to go either. We take his obsession away and this guy could go on a spree and lash out, at us, at random people. We’d have a higher body count.”

There had to be a way to keep Malcolm from killing anyone else. Now that he knew about Ian’s other side, now that he knew the truth, Malcolm didn’t need to cover his ass anymore. The Moore’s were dead, so was Robertson and they were both on the same page about wanting to protect Ian no matter what. There was no one left for Ian to fear, no one left to hurt him. Maybe Malcolm wouldn’t hurt anyone else. 

“I think we should talk to the captain about this. We need to lay out all the evidence, remind him we have no leads about who the hell this guy is and leave the hard decision up to him.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Mickey said and they headed towards the front door, leaving the rest for the crime scene techs and the coroner. “We can have the officers canvas the area, see if they saw anyone lurking around here since we left yesterday. Someone had to see something, I mean look at this.”

Beyond the yellow tape there was a crowd of people. Like a mosh pit. The officers were doing their best to keep everyone back, the line of cop cars helped, but it was out of control. 

“Yeah, someone has to know something.” Marlowe said and pointed to the house next door to Robertson’s. “I see flood lights out front, possibly a camera. Most of these newer houses have them.”

Shit. A camera. Malcolm was smart though, methodical. He covered his ass the first time, he’d damn sure do it again. If there was a camera, it wouldn’t show them anything more than the first one did. Which was just basic info, height, weight. It didn’t match Ian. 

“Okay, let’s cover our asses here before we talk to the captain. You tell the officers to canvas the houses in the neighborhood, I’ll ask about the cameras next door. Maybe we won’t need a warrant for those. Take everything, including the body back, then talk to him about what the play is.”

Marlowe nodded. “Alright. Meet me back here. We might need an escort out of this mess.”

Mickey didn’t waste any time. He needed to talk to Ian—no, to Malcolm but he didn’t even know how to attempt that. He wasn’t sure he wanted him back anyway. He slipped under the tape, pushed passed half a dozen people and knocked on the door. It opened within seconds, letting him know they’d been watching just like everyone else. 

“Yes?” The man answered cautiously. He was still in pajamas, his wife too as she stood beside him. Middle aged, no children, he knew that from the lack of bags under their eyes.

Mickey dug for his badge, then showed it to them. “I’m detective Milkovich with Chicago PD. Mind if I ask you some questions?”

“Of course not. But we don’t know what happened over there.”

“Yeah, I don’t think you did. But my partner noticed the flood lights you have outside. I was wondering if those came installed with security’s cameras.”

“Yes, they do actually.” The guy seemed surprised he hadn’t realized that at first. “It’s a safe neighborhood but there are some teenagers that go around vandalizing people's homes.”

When teenagers vandalize property, it was normally harmless. Egged house and cars, silly string, dog shit in bags on the porch, smoke bombs inside mailboxes, if they hadn’t taken those off with baseball bats. When he was a cop, he handled a lot of those calls. Hell, in his youth, he was the reason those calls happened. He terrorized more homes and families than he could remember. It was all in good fun. 

“I don’t think this was done by teenagers, sir.” Mickey smiled, already exhausted. “I was wondering if we could have access to the footage. There is a chance that the camera might have caught sight of whoever did this.”

“Absolutely, anything to help. Just give me a second, the footage is stored on a USB drive.” 

Mickey waited with the wife, who seemed rather silent, afraid even. She did say one word and only met his eyes once. Good thing it didn’t take long for the husband to come back, USB in hand. He took it, slipped one hand into his jacket pocket for an evidence bag, then slipped them both back inside. 

“Thank you, I’ll make sure you get this back as soon as we have a look at it.” Mickey offered his hand, which the man shook. But the wife still wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Have a nice day.” 

The crowd thinned considerably by the time he got back to Robertson’s house. Marlowe met him where they seperated, looking like she was about to open fire on the crowd of people left still lingering around. He couldn’t blame her, there was such a thing as too many people. They all wanted to help, giving false information just to get their ten minutes of attention. He didn’t like them anymore than she did. 

“They give you access?”

Mickey pulled the bag out of his jacket and wiggled it. “Hopefully we can get something off it. You get anyone to come forward?”

Marlowe laughed, an exasperated sound and pointed to a cluster of people that were seperated from the crowd. “Too many, actually. They all claim to know what happened and saw his face, or her face, one man even said it was a team.”

“Jesus.” Mickey laughed too, that same sound. “I bet everyone is dead wrong and a waste of our time.”

“Which is why the officers are going to earn their checks this week. I let them handle it. They don’t know much about our perp so they can’t lead them on about what he looked like or if it was a he. It’ll help us weed out the liars and possibly have one person with truthful information.” 

“Let’s hope.” Mickey said with sarcasm, she noticed but didn’t comment. “Ready to head back to the precinct?”

“As long as you make it there without a detour.”

She left right after that, leaving him no room to argue, which he couldn’t. She was right and he hated it. But he let it go and walked to his own car and drove right behind her the entire way. When they arrived, she gave him a nod, she was even smiling a little. It was a start. But he’d have to be careful. 

“I’ll take this to Jerry if you wanna see if the captain is up for a powwow.” Mickey started down the hallway, waiting for her okay. “I’ll tell him to compare it to the other video just to make sure we only have one guy doing this shit.”

“Alright, I’ll be waiting.”

Mickey found Jerry in his office. “Hey man, I need you to work your magic on this like you did the other video.” He tossed the bag and leaned against the counter as Jerry thumbed at the bag. “We had another murder last night, one of our witnesses.”

“I’m guessing this is a priority?”

“As soon as you can.” Mickey was already walking back to the door. “I just need to know if that guy matches our other one and if he shows his face at any time. We are pretty sure it’s the same guy but we need to make sure.” 

“Alright, I’ll get right on it.” 

On the way back up, Mickey took a detour into the break room for more coffee. While he waited, he quickly dialed Ian’s number, looking over his shoulder as it rang to make sure Marlowe wasn’t creeping up on him. It rang four times before it was answered.

“Mickey, hey.”

He smiled. “Hey, how’s it going?”

“You mean work?”

No, he meant the other personality living inside him. “Yeah, work. Not too hungover are you?”

“I’ve had a constant headache but other than that I’m alright. How are you?”

“Busy, as always. I just wanted to call and see how you were doing.”

Ian laughed. “You’re busy but still have time to call and ask how my day is?”

Now he was blushing while he poured his coffee. “I might have had another reason to call you. I can’t tell you the details because I’m not really supposed to do that, but we had an incident this morning and I’m pretty sure my captain is going to want you to come to the precinct at some point today.”

“Oh, okay. That doesn’t sound good.”

“It’s not, actually. You’re not in trouble or anything, we might need to ask you a few questions, that’s all.” Mickey took his coffee and left the break room to find Marlowe, she wouldn’t wait for long. “I just didn’t want them to show up and you think you did something wrong.”

“Yeah, I’d be worried about that.” Ian let out a nervous laugh. “Thanks for letting me know. Do you think I should get a lawyer or something?”

“Of course that’s your right, but again, you’re not a suspect, Ian. And I’d pick you up but I have a fire under my ass because of last night. I was supposed to meet my partner and keep working but…”

“But you were with me.”

“Yeah, I was.” Mickey shut his eyes, trying his hardest to block out all that shut, even when he just wanted to remember, to replay it. “I’m not even sure it’ll happen today, but just expect someone. I can call you when I know more.”

Ian sighed heavily. “Any chance I can see you tonight?”

God, he wanted it. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Ian. I might be able to swing by before I go home but we can’t…”

“I know, I didn’t mean that. I meant just to talk.” 

Mickey wanted to see him again, that was part of his repeated problem. “I’ll see what I can do, but it might be late.”

“I’ll be up. Just call me.”

“I will. Bye.”

“Bye, Mick.”

The call ended just in time for their captain's door to open. He quickly slipped his phone in his pocket and joined them inside. Marlowe didn’t seem mad, maybe because he hadn’t taken hours for a simple task like he had been doing lately. Their captain looked agitated, which meant Marlowe recapped on what was happening. 

“So, no new leads?”

Mickey shook his head. “I have Jerry combing through the second video but I’m sure it’ll be like the first, basic information and nothing to lead us to an actual face.”

“This is out of hand. Now we have three bodies and no leads.” Captain Royce shook his head. “We are putting in hundreds of hours of manpower and keeping this Gallagher kid from his life and we have nothing to show for it.”

Finally, he was understanding. “We were debating putting Gallagher into full protective custody, but there are risks involved with that.” Mickey was surprised Marlowe agreed with him without adding anything. “He could go on a spree and kill at random in retaliation for not being able to access Gallagher whenever he wants. We are risking too many people.”

“We can’t just leave him either.” Royce added. “Sooner or later he will come for Gallagher. They always do and it doesn’t end pretty.”

“We could set a trap.” Marlowe said and they both looked at her. “Not using Gallagher of course but a decoy. Set it up where it’s guaranteed to work and we can finally catch him.” 

If they had a normal perp it would be a good idea. But it wouldn’t work this time. They’d catch Ian, or worse, Malcolm and they’d all be fucked. But again, he couldn’t just say that!!

“Do you think it’s worth a try?” Royce asked him. 

Mickey shook his head, then shrugged. “I’m not sure. We only have this guys height and weight and that’s it. Even if we did catch someone, we have no proof it’s our guy. And if it is and he realizes we are playing him, someone could get hurt, us or the decoy himself. It’s risky but so is doing nothing.”

Royce groaned. “Okay, this is what I want. Milkovich, you stay here and coordinate all the new evidence. Find something that wasn’t there in the first crime scene, something to narrow this down. Summers, you put a plan together for this decoy shit. I don’t want it set in motion but convince me it’s a good idea. I want it down to the letter. No mistakes.”

All this would give him some time to see if he could reach Malcolm and warn him. Or ensure nothing else would happen. If Malcolm stayed silent for another twenty years, they could classify this as a cold case and Ian would be safe. But leaving it all up to a psychopath wasn’t giving him much hope on the matter. 

“You guys have until tomorrow to find something and work on that plan. I want your asses in here first thing tomorrow to lay it all out for me. If you find something probative before then, all the better. I don’t want to risk another body drop by asking information on Gallagher.”

“Speaking of Gallagher,” Mickey said cautiously, waiting for an eye roll from Marlowe that didn’t come. “Right now we still have him at the hotel. He’s got an officer with him but unless you approve all that over time I’m not sure we can keep someone on him.”

“That depends on the amount of overtime.”

“It would be now until tomorrow when we talk to you.” Mickey knew it was a waste, but if he didn’t bring it up it would be odd. “Do you think he should stay here until that happens? At least we can keep him safe and we know where the hell he is.”

“Here?” Royce asked, surprised. 

“He can sleep in the bunks for a night. It’s not the Ritz but it’s better than 24 hours of overtime.” 

“Christ,” Royce sat back, eyes squeezed closed and Mickey knew exactly what that felt like. “We can make that happen for one night. We aren’t set up for housing longer than that. By the time I’d have to question it, you two better have the shit I asked you for.”

“We will.” They answered at the same time, then it was as if they went back to when they were actually friends and fist bumped each other, smiling. “I don’t see him being happy about staying here but if this guy does go on a spree, or gets the balls and goes after Gallagher first, at least we know he won’t try anything if we have him.”

“Oh, he better not. I pay you assholes enough to at least keep our own house safe. He comes in here and we deserve whatever he’s gonna dish out.” Royce laughed, bordering on hysteria. “I’m sure the kid is at work until this evening. I’ll tell the officer watching him what the plan is. We have him bring Gallagher here for the night. I want you two working on this, not dealing with him. Got it?”

“Got it.” They answered together again, but Marlowe gave him that look...that damn look. 

“Good, now get the hell out and do your jobs.”

They all but scrambled to get out, even bumping shoulders together to see who would do first. Marlowe won, she was taller even without the heels and much stronger than she looked. He didn’t let her win, she earned the right to leave first. But he was right after and they came out smiling on the other side. 

“Okay, so we each do what we are told.” Mickey waited for her to nod. It felt normal not working side by side anymore. This is the first case where they weren’t glued to each other and he was sure it was his fault. “Maybe we meet around dinner, see if we know anything by then?”

“Sounds good to me.” Marlowe lightly knocked his shoulder and walked away. 

It would be at least an hour for the coroner to get the body from Joliet all the way back here, along with most of their evidence. Jerry would need at least twice that before he’d have anything to share about the video, or either video. He could take a look at the evidence from the first scene but that was moot, he knew who the fucking killer was, he just couldn’t tell anyone. What he needed to do, was look up shit about multiple personalities and find some answers, what to do or not to do. He needed to be ready when Malcolm surfaced again, because he would, it was just a matter of when, not if.


	8. Blurry

Beneath the Surface  
Chapter 8– Blurry

Mickey had been holed up in one of the larger conference rooms for the better part of two hours after they were assigned their duties of the night. He had case number on; The Moore’s, tacked up on a wall sized cork board. Pictures, reports, tests, everything. He laid out everything he knew, then did the same for their second case, Tate Robertson. It didn’t cover as much space as the first but it was there all the same.

It had taken Jerry forty five minutes to do the autopsy on Robertson, and as Maslowe said at the scene, he died from drowning in his own blood. Jerry said the tongue was removed with that looked like forceps or pliers, something with a good grip and easily bought at any store in every fucking city. It was cut with a sharp knife from the kitchen set on the counter and he’d been alive the entire time. The tongue was stretched out as far as it would go, then sliced in half and while Malcolm had been decorating the plate in the kitchen, Robertson swallowed too much blood, which resulted in drowning. A truly awful, awful way to die. Painful, messy, torture. Aside from the tongue, and the rope burns on Robertson’s arms from being tied up, he hadn’t been touched. 

The crime scene until didn’t find any prints that weren’t supposed to be there. When whatever family member of Robertson’s showed up, they made a list of all those who had access to his house in the last month. No family, only a few people from work, the teacher that found the body included, but no one else’s. Not Ian’s, thank fuck. His was already on file from where they first interviewed him and given they had a history in their youth, Ian had no reason to see Robertson as an adult. That would raise too many questions and Mickey would probably have to contaminate evidence to keep Ian’s print out—good thing they didn’t find one. 

There had been no forced entry, much like at the Moore’s. It looked as if their perp—Malcolm, simply knocked on the door and since Robertson recognized him and didn’t think of him as a threat of any kind, just simply let him inside. A mistake that cost him his life. There were no footprints this time either. Malcolm hadn’t covered his tracks, it had simply been all too easy to kill him. Lure Robertson into the kitchen, subdue him with a knife or a gun, tie him up and kill him. All without waking the neighbors or putting up a fight. 

If Malcolm left him in bed around 5:30 that morning, he sped to Joliet to kill Robertson at approximately 6:00 , then was back at the hotel in Chicago by the time he got up at 7:00, that meant it took under half an hour to kill him, stage it and leave without anyone seeing him. That took skill, precision, and a fuck load of confidence. There had been no time for second guesses or hesitation or what if’s. Nothing of the sort. Malcolm went there with the intent to kill and did just that, then came back and went to sleep. 

It had taken Jerry even longer to look through about a hundred hours of video from neighbors house. He had to bring a few techs in to help him sort through it all. All he found was someone walking up the Robertson’s front door around 5:45 that morning. Like the other footage, he was wearing a dark hoodie that all but covered his face, jeans and boots. His height and weight were the same as the first, which didn’t match Ian’s because Malcolm made sure to wear shoes that had a lift to them, making him appear taller for that purpose. He wore thick gloves that didn’t leave prints, most did, they even left behind smudges with enough lines to find a match, but Malcolm knew better. 

They were at a dead end, just like he knew they’d be. Forensics was not on their side this time. No amount of looking at the evidence would help them find their man or put a stop to any more killings. The captain would not like that, as it was the only thing standing between him and letting Marlowe carry out her plan to use a decoy to trap him. He wondered what details she’d be able to pull from Ian’s life that would add up to a location to make it work how they wanted it to. It wouldn’t work, Mickey would warn Malcolm before it got that far and if they were trying to use an Ian look alike, it would look like Ian trying to kidnap himself...which made no sense whatsoever. It would be a waste of their time and resources and he couldn’t tell them.

Considering it was only a little after two in the afternoon, and Ian wouldn’t get off work for another three hours at least, he had to do whatever he could before Marlowe and the captain assumed he was dropping the ball. The first stop he made was the break room. It had been about two hours or so since he last caffeined up and he was yearning for those hours of sleep Malcolm robbed him of. Passing out and falling asleep was not the same thing, he didn’t rest or dream or recharge, he simply exited the world for a few hours and woke up feeling like he had when he passed out. It was a long night, into a long day and they had a longer night ahead of them. He filled up his mug with mostly sugar, then snatched his pack of smokes off his desk and headed outside for a moment. He didn’t even have a chance to light that smoke before his phone was ringing. 

Surprisingly enough it wasn’t Marlowe or Captain Royce asking where he was. He smiled at Ian’s name, put the smoke between his lips and answered on the fourth ring. “Hey.”

“Detective.” Malcolm growled on the other end. 

Mickey gasped before he could stop it and all those memories from last night came tearing through his body all at once. It was a reaction he hadn’t expected and from another growl in his ear, Malcolm either didn’t hear it or didn’t care. “Why are you calling me?”

“That’s not a very nice way to say hello.” 

“I said hello, you’re the one with the shitty attitude.” Mickey pulled his lighter out and lit the tip of his cigarette. He inhaled deeply, then slowly exhaled. “Is there a reason you’re driving right now?”

“Yes, there is actually. Ian had a very upsetting visit about half an hour ago from the Chicago Police Department. Please tell me why they informed him of the murder of Tate Robertson and told him he was to be at the station before nightfall.”

Mickey knew that was coming, he even warned Ian as much as he could, but it seemed the officer may have made it sound like Ian was in trouble again. And Malcolm didn’t like that. “First of all, fuck you. You’re the reason he’s dead in the first place, you’re the reason Ian is under a microscope. That shit isn’t on me.”

Malcolm growled again. “I’m not having this conversation over the phone. Meet me.”

“That’s a bad idea.” Mickey replied instantly and took another drag. “I'm neck deep in another body, again, thanks to you. I can’t be out socializing.”

“I told you he needed to keep his mouth shut.”

“Yeah, but you failed to say you were planning on killing him for it. The least you could have done was warn him first.” Mickey was almost shouting and when he realized it, he took a shallow breath and tried to relax his shoulders. “I’m not getting into this shit with you. I’m working, I’m busy.”

Malcolm gave a dark chuckle. “It’s funny, you don’t look too busy.”

By the time he could react, feeling fear pump through his veins like blood, Malcolm appeared in front of him, a phone on his ear. He must have come from the alleyway because that’s exactly where Malcolm was dragging him. He had a death grip on the collar of his shirt and the more he fought, the harder he pulled until they were out of sight. Mickey was tossed against the brick side of the precinct with a thud, his head almost smacking into the side, then Malcolm was on him, using the bulk of his height and body weight to trap him. One forearm was across his neck, keeping him pinned, while the other held a really sharp knife right up to his eyes, showing him. Mickey settled, unable to do anything else and tried to ignore the way his body pulsed with need. 

“First thing you should know is not to lie to me. About anything.” Malcolm spoke quietly, but the growl in his voice remained. He twisted the knife skillfully in his hand. “Especially about things concerning Ian.”

Mickey was afraid of him, but not really. It was a mixed response and he wasn’t sure how to use it to his advantage yet, but he would. “Taking a smoke break doesn’t mean I’m not fucking busy. I’ve been cleaning up your messes, remember? Trying to keep Ian out of jail.”

“They wouldn’t dare put him in jail.”

“If the people he knows keeps dropping like flies they will. The only connection between the Moore’s and Robertson is Ian. You fucking know that. He doesn’t deserve this shit because of your poor impulse control.” The pressure on his neck increased, cutting off his neck round of snarky comments. The most he could do was swallow, and try not to cough. 

“I don’t need mouth breathers telling everyone my personal business, especially not to the cops. I didn’t want Ian to know about Robertson for a reason. That brings up too many questions he can’t answer and won’t understand. That’s my business.”

“Well you made it mine the moment you killed him.” Mickey had enough of that pressure and pushed on Malcolm’s chest, he moved an inch but it was enough to give him some air. “My issue is I know who the fucking killer is and I can’t say shit about it because it’ll come down on Ian and he deserves more.”

“He deserves everything.” Malcolm got closer, his nose touching Mickey’s. “He’s worried. So worried that I didn’t even have to claw my way out of his mind this time. He pretty much opened the door and let me in.”

“He has nothing to worry about for now.” Mickey took another breath, then changed the subject. “You mind backing the fuck off me? I’m not gonna cuff your ass and take you in the moment I have full use of my body.”

Malcolm smiled sadistically. “I’d like to see you try that. You’d end up taking another nap or on your knees this time.”

Mickey didn’t react as Malcolm moved away. He didn’t let on that now he missed the feel of his body against his, the warmth, the dash of fear and violence. But he couldn’t meet his eyes and he knew Malcolm already knew what he’d been thinking. That smile got wider, more mischievous looking. 

“What is Ian supposed to be here tonight for?”

“When dealing with a stalker, there comes a time when looking isn’t enough anymore. When bodies start to drop, especially for only talking to the authorities, it’s clear that the object of their obsession is in danger, meaning the stalker will snap and decide that he wants them with him, instead of following him.”

“But he is me.”

Mickey rolled his eyes and Malcolm all but huffed at him. “Of course it’s you but I can’t just say that. They think we are dealing with a garden variety whack job, not an innocent man with a psychotic personality. They want Ian to stay here tonight, to make sure he’s safe until we can figure out a way to end this.”

It was so much harder trying to explain this to Malcolm than it was Royce or Marlowe. He was giving himself a headache just trying and clearly Malcolm was having a hard time following it all. 

“They also want to question him about Robertson.”

“That can’t happen.”

Mickey’s eyebrows rose. Malcolm was moving, circling him like a shark, that knife was still in his palm. “It has to happen. He’s the only one connected to the both of them. They will ask him when the last time he saw Robertson was, they will ask if they had any contact, in person or over the phone and they will probably yank Robertson’s phone records just to be sure. If Ian really has no idea about you and him, he will tell the truth.”

“If they look at his phone bill, they will see Ian’s phone number on it.”

“Why?” Mickey asked, almost moving in a circle, almost like two old western guys in a shootout. “Ian told me he hasn’t seen or heard from him in years.”

“Didn’t you ask yourself why I was around at all last night?” Malcolm asked, sneering at him. He stopped moving. “I only come out when Ian needs me to, remember? I can’t pick and choose that time. Ian does. So why, why last night?”

Mickey narrowed his eyes. He’d hadn’t thought about why he was there. He was too worried about cleaning up after him. “Fine, what set it off?”

“While Ian was at work last night, just before his shift ended, Robertson called him and started asking those questions I was so worried about.”

If they asked Ian if he spoke to Robertson and he said no, then checked the call logs and it shows a conversation between them, Ian was in deep shit. Not that a phone call made him guilty of murder, but lying was never the way to go, it brought up too many questions. 

“Ian didn’t know what the fuck was happening and then wham, you get me to handle that shit.” Malcolm expertly flipped the knife into the air and caught it by the blade. “I was going to kill you, then drive to Robertson’s house and kill him after.”

“Well if Ian got the call, he should remember and be able to tell us that Robertson called him. He won’t know what they talked about but I can’t see the conversation being very long after that.” Mickey reasoned, once again doing whatever he could to make sure Ian stayed out of this mess. “As long as he doesn’t lie there won’t be a problem.”

“There better not be. I have no problem going the distance to make this shit go away.”

“Stop fucking killing people and it will go away.” Mickey snapped back, getting close and closer. “Now that I have you here, we need to talk about some shit. This case can only go so long before we have to classify it as a cold case. With no leads and no suspects, and hopefully with no more bodies, we don’t have the manpower to keep it going.”

Malcolm laughed, a full bellied, fold in half, tickle you pink laugh. It echoed around them, adding to its intensity. “I was right not to kill you. You are very, very useful, detective. Look at you trying to help me, trying to keep me safe.”

Mickey shook his head. “No, I’m trying to keep Ian safe.”

“Ian, me, we are the same person.”

“No, you’re not.” Mickey argued and meant every word. “As rough as Ian had it, he was never violent towards anyone.”

“That’s because he had me, detective. I was the reason he was able to survive all those years of abuse. I gave him an out, he got to sleep while I took the brunt of that punishment.” Malcolm inched forward, his body positively shaking with anger. “He didn’t remember any of it. Not the beatings or the broken bones or laying there and not being able to move. But I do. I was stronger than him.”

There was no hiding the sympathy he had for Ian and that entire situation. Child abuse, no matter the age, was dispicabe and heart wrenching. With his job, he’d seen kids getting killed because of abuse, he’d seen adults getting killed when the kids were older, like Ian, and even if that was justice, it still wasn’t right. He had immense respect for what Malcolm had done for Ian when he was a kid. How he helped him, he took away his pain and kept it to himself, leaving Ian with only the after effects and not the trauma itself. That didn’t make killing people okay, but he was sympathetic, understanding. 

“What you did for Ian was admirable, there is no denying that.” Mickey said with absolute conviction and he swore he saw something In Malcolm’s eyes change, like Ian was trying to resurface. “He couldn’t handle it and you kept him alive. I know how it must have been for you…” Malcolm cut him off with a snort. 

“I doubt that.”

Mickey waited, letting Malcolm see into the deepest parts of him, parts he kept hidden even from himself and whatever he saw, changed that look. “I had the pleasure of dealing with abuse from my own biological father. Someone who was designed to love me before I was even born, yet he didn’t. He used me like a punching bag every day until I left. I didn’t have anyone to help me, aside from myself.”

Malcolm watched him, eyes curious. 

“I understand wanting to kill the people that hurt you. I must have planned his death every single time he hit me, over and over again. But that didn’t give me the right to actually do it, or you either. Ian was safe, you got him out and away and he was finally happy and doing what he wanted to do, he was helping kids like him who couldn’t get help. Now his life is fucked up again and he’s not happy.”

“I did what needed to be done, detective. I told you, they were trying to adopt another child and inflict the same pain they did with Ian. Now they can’t. Killing them didn’t cause Ian any pain. If it had, I would know.”

Things between them were heating once again. Just like last night. The more they did this, the back and forth arguing, the exchange of information, it got a little bit hotter between them. Mickey’s blood was pumping at an alarming rate, his heart pulsing fast to catch up, his body reacting as it did before, hardening without his approval and no matter how many times he mumbled the pledge of allegiance in his mind made it go down. They were already closer, nearly nose to nose and they weren’t done yet. 

“Look, we can’t change the shit you’ve done. The only thing we can do is keep this from going any further. What I need to know is if you’re done with this shit. The sooner you stop, the faster this shit dies down all together.” Mickey paused a moment, watching Malcolm think so hard he could almost hear his thoughts. “Think you can do that?”

“I’m not sure actually.” Malcolm replied with honesty. “I hadn’t planned on killing anyone aside from the Moore’s and Robertson was never on my list before he opened his mouth, so I should be done.”

“Should be?”

“Yes, nothing is certain.” Malcolm stepped closer, eyes working their way across his body. “As long as you don’t tell anyone what you know, we should be fine.”

Mickey backed up, knowing he had another inch or so before the wall met his back as he had nowhere else to go. “If I was going to tell anyone, I would have the moment I got free of those cuffs. I wouldn’t be risking my career and earning my fair share of years in prison by helping you cover it up. If you didn’t share Ian’s body, you’d be in jail.”

“You’d have to catch me first.” Malcolm smirked. “And I fight dirty when I have to.”

“I’d catch you.” Mickey said with confidence. When Malcolm took another step forward, he took another one back and pushed up against the wall. “I gotta get back to work.”

“Yeah, sure you do, detective. I have to get Ian back to work before he decides to come out and play again. When you bring him in, be careful with how he’s treated and spoken to. He breaks easily and the last thing you want is me coming out in a room full of cops.”

“You need better control then.” Moments later, Malcolm had the tip of his knife buried in the brick just beside his head, he could almost feel the coldness of the blade radiating off it. Then their noses pressed together, their eyes locked. “You kill me and it’s over.”

“I’m not going to kill you, detective, I’m going to say thank you.” Malcolm removed the knife, slid the tip along his cheek, flat side down, then tossed it. “You’ve been hard at work, keeping Ian safe, trying to keep us both out of jail. I think that deserves a reward, don’t you?”

The fear only added to what was happening below his belt. Malcolm could easily kill him long before he could attempt to go for his gun. That was just a fact, one slice and he would die and no one would be able to reach him in time. For some reason—God only knows why—his body was reacting, hardening within moments. But it wasn’t just the knife, it was Malcolm himself. His entire self. His attitude, his threats, his confidence most of all and his ability to go the distance to keep Ian safe. It all accumulated into undeniable need. 

“Just don’t kill anyone else and consider that my reward.” Mickey said and looked him right in the eye, knowing Malcolm could see the fire in them, the heat. “I’m already in enough of a mess with staying last night, I have to get back to work.”

“My gifts don’t come often, detective. You should be grateful.” Malcolm dropped his hands, expertly working Mickey’s belt open, then his slacks and he smiled when he didn’t meet any resistance. “See, you want it.”

Mickey chose that moment to push his hands away, only Malcolm didn’t give a damn and slapped at his hands until his slacks were hanging open at his hips. “No, I don’t.” He wasn’t fooling anyone. Not himself, definitely not Malcolm. But he couldn’t give in so easily, he had to attempt to fight it. “You need to go and so do I.”

“I’ll go when I’m done.” Malcolm dropped to his knees in the dirty alleyway, eyes looking up, a smirk on his face. “I don’t normally give without something in return, so you better enjoy this.”

There was enough time to actually stop him. He was strong enough to stop him, yet when Malcolm tucked his fingers into the band of his boxers and pulled them down to his thighs, he didn’t make that move. His cock pushed out, towards Malcolm’s face, almost embarrassingly fast. The cool air hit his heated skin and he let out the first gasp of their time together. Wetness gathered at the slit quickly, showing both of them exactly how much he wanted it. 

One more smirk and Malcolm took him all the way down, Mickey groaned when he could feel the back of his throat convulsing for a moment before he locked those thin lips around him and slid up, all the way up to the head, the wetness swiped by his tongue. He went back down within seconds, groaning to his surprise and each bob of his head was perfect. Better than any blow job he’d gotten in the past. It felt like his legs would give out at any time, they were wobbly, shaky and he had to lock his knees to keep on standing. 

“Fuck.” Mickey groaned, eyes cast downwards, unable to look away. It might have looked like Ian was blowing him, but one look into those eyes and he knew better. To keep his mind from freaking out about it, he closed his eyes and deliberately didn’t touch him. “Mmmm.”

“Mmmm.” Malcolm made the same sound, getting into it and added his hand, chasing his mouth up and down his shaft. He had to split his own thighs when his jeans tightened. 

“This shouldn’t be happening.” Mickey reasoned, with himself or Malcolm, he wasn’t entirely sure. It felt heavenly, of course, but without Ian knowing it felt like betrayal. “This should be Ian, not you.” 

Malcolm pulled off, his lips slick. While he spoke, he worked Mickey with a tight fist. “Trust me, he wants it. Especially after you told him about our time together last night.”

“I thought that was Ian.” Mickey argued, attempting to move but Malcolm pushed him back with his free hand. “If I knew it was you, it wouldn’t have happened.”

“It’s funny how you almost believe that.” Malcolm laughed. “You wouldn’t be this hard if you didn’t need what I gave you last night. Lying to me is pointless, detective. I probably know what you want more than you do.”

Mickey snorted. “Yeah, I doubt that.”

With another growl, an irritated one, Malcolm replaced his hand with his mouth and kept blowing him. Mickey tried not to like it, he tried to block it out, all the sounds and smells and feelings running through his body. He was able to for about five seconds, then Malcolm deepthroated him, taking him all the way down for more than thirty seconds, then pulled back and moved faster. 

“God.” Mickey whined, giving in. He knew it wouldn’t take long, it had been ages since he got a blow job from anyone, let alone someone so fucking talented, someone he kinda liked—Ian, not Malcolm. “Fuckkkk.”

It was incredible the things Malcolm could do with his mouth. Not just sucking, but changing the amount of suction around him, harder at the head, softer taking the rest. He rolled his tongue up and down his shaft as he moved, caressing every inch of him, then expertly swirling his tongue around his slit, then down around his balls, almost extending his jaw to do so. It was like nothing he ever felt before and that last swipe of his tongue had Mickey finally reaching down, tangling his hands into red hair and pulling. He needed him closer, he needed his cock deeper, the speed needed to be faster. He just needed it.

“Oh, my fucking God!!” Mickey tilted his head back, his back arching the moment the fingers on Malcolm’s other hand moved between his cheeks, probing at him but not trying to get inside. “I’m already close.” He warned and Malcolm growled again, not letting up. 

Malcolm winked, then wiggled one finger between his cheeks and lightly rubbed against his entrance, finding him still loose and wet from last night.

That’s all it took to have him coming hard down his throat. Mickey pulled him forward until he deepthroated him yet again, and held him there as he came. If he’d have been able to look down at him, he’d see watery eyes, hungry eyes and that satisfied look on his face. Malcolm eagerly swallowed him, his throat convulsing to get it all down without gagging and Mickey was surprised he didn’t, not a single time. He eased up when the worst of it passed, letting Malcolm slide down a little, his tongue doing that wiggling thing again, making that hypersensitivity increased until he hissed and pulled him off a little more. 

“Jesus.” Mickey whined when he sucked on the tip, getting the last bit of his come before he pulled away, pulled up his boxers and slacks and fixed his belt. 

Malcolm stood, smirking as he licked his lips. “I knew you’d like it. You had a firm grip on my hair, detective. You’re lucky I don’t have a gag reflex.”

Blushing Mickey put his hand against Malcolm’s chest and pushed him away. He was over the fucking noon satisfied, like he needed a steak and a beer before he passed the fuck out for eight hours and that smug little prick knew it, he was proud of it. “If you did, I still would have held you down.”

“Ooh, I like it rough. Maybe you can explain to Ian later on why his throat is sore.” Malcolm rubbed against his neck fondly, all but purring. “I don’t expect a thank you, but I expect something in return the next time we meet.”

“Don’t count on it.” Mickey retorted quickly. “Unless it’s gonna be Ian and you sit on the sidelines.” 

“You need to work on your pillow talk.” Malcolm lightly tapped Mickey’s cheek, but it was slapped away in seconds. “You gonna tell Ian about this too, or let him wonder why he can taste you in the back of his throat?”

“Considering he was at work, no, I can’t just tell him he drank and we fucked around in the middle of the day.” Mickey said that as if it was obvious and he asked a stupid question. “Maybe once you stop coming around and this case can end, Ian and I can figure out what all this is, but until then, no. You need to stay gone and let this shit blow over, and let Ian get back to his life.”

“What, I’m not allowed to have a life too?” Malcolm asked, getting irritated quickly. “I have needs, desires. I want things, people. And no, not to kill them, but to be. To exist, to be wanted and needed.”

“You get to live through Ian. It might not be as exciting as blowing guys in alleyways but you should be happy if he is. Knowing that he’s safe and happy and getting to live his life.” Mickey moved off the wall, further away from him and lit a smoke. Malcolm snagged it, forcing him to light another one. “You gonna let him come back, for good this time?”

After a moment, Malcolm sighed, then nodded. “Fine. Ian gets what he wants, you get what you want and I get stuffed back into the dark, cold parts of his mind. Yeah, because that seems fair, hmm?” He backed up, headed towards the sidewalk. “Try not to fuck this up, detective. The more unstable he becomes, the more you get me.”

Malcolm left without another word and Mickey emerged from the alley and didn’t see him anywhere, like he vanished into thin air. He finished half his cigarette before he stepped back inside, went for more coffee and was back in the conference room ten minutes later when Marlowe showed up, letting herself in. 

“Hey, how’s it coming?”

Mickey shook his head. “Just had a smoke and some coffee, see if that’ll put me in a better mood about this. I didn’t find anything new with the Robertson crime scene.”

She wasn’t pleased. “Nothing?”

“Not a damn thing.”

“What about the surveillance camera?”

Mickey pushed the photos towards him, some blown up and zoomed in and others their normal size. She looked at each of them with keen eyes. “The only thing it shows, is that he didn’t break into the house and that he wore gloves. Jerry says it’s the same guy, which it has to be, but that’s it. No face, no prints, no nothing.”

“I’m getting sick of this shit.” Marlowe tossed the photos back down and paced the side of the room she was on. “I can’t believe after all this, after two crime scenes and three dead bodies and we have nothing to show for it.” 

“No, we don’t.” Mickey took a seat and nursed his coffee, his legs still felt a little weak and he didn’t want her to pick up on his lack of stability. “I’ve gone through it all multiple times and nothing gives this guy away. Nothing.”

“Royce is not going to be happy about this.”

“That makes three of us.” Mickey smiled, nothing happy or smug, but a tired smile. “How’s your stuff going? Get a plan together yet?”

Marlowe shrugged. “Yes and no. I’m working out a few of the details, but I was hoping to talk to Gallagher about those. He might have something to add, or ideas, or insight.”

“That might help. He knows more about his day to day life than we do. I’m sure his day is pretty straight forward but maybe if he tells you what he does after, before he goes home. Or on his days off maybe, it could lead to a prime location.”

“Yeah, I like that, thanks.” She smiled at him. “I ran into a snag though. We have to assume this guy knows Ian’s schedule too, but he can’t watch him all the time, can he? Not 24/7-365. He has to sleep and eat and unless he’s homeless, he has to work, he would need money.”

That would ring true, if Ian wasn’t the one taking care of all of that. It was easy to keep tabs when they were the same person. It would be so much easier if he could just tell her, explain that it’s not Ian’s fault, that Malcolm weighed the risks of the Moore’s adopting another child and knew he had to act. Maybe she would understand—or maybe she’d arrest Ian and assume the entire thing was fake. 

“While Ian’s at work, he knows he’s safe, that he won’t go anywhere.” Mickey offered his insight, ignoring the fact that this wasn’t a normal case of stalking. “That’s at least eight hours for him to take care of all that shit. A nap, some food, a shower, then back before Ian has a chance to leave. And if Ian was truthful about his schedule, he goes home, orders takeout and has it delivered, then rinse and repeat the next day.” 

“So, maybe if we set it up at Ian’s job…” Marlowe shook her head at her own idea. “Too many variables. Someone could and would get hurt and we can’t risk the public, even if Royce would approve it.”

“Maybe at Ian’s home?” Mickey asked, going with whatever flow she was thinking of. “Less people. We could clear his side of the apartments, make sure we have officers surrounding the area, roadblocks if we need.”

“That was my second option, but clearing the apartments is a nice touch.” Marlowe offered the complement without hesitation. “I’m gonna get back at it and wait for Gallagher to arrive. Any idea when he’s coming?”

“Actually no, I’m not sure but I can find out. It’s just after four now, he gets off work around five, maybe shortly after that.” Mickey stood and slipped his phone from his slacks. “I’ll let you know when he gets here.”

“Alright, thanks. See you then.”

Mickey stood, intent on finding the closest food source, which would be all those takeout menus in the break room. He headed down the hallway without stopping to talk to anyone. He called whatever menu he saw first, was told he’d have to pick it up in ten minutes due to too many calls. As soon as that call ended, his cell phone rang. It was Ian. Or was it Malcolm? He almost let it go to voicemail just to figure out who it was before he answered but he didn’t. 

“Hello?”

“Hey, Mickey.” Ian greeted with a sigh.

Mickey all but fell into the chair closer to him, he was so relieved. “Ian, hey. Are you okay?”

“Actually no, not really.” Ian admitted with another sigh. “I had one of my headaches a little while ago and I’m kinda drained. It happened in front of my boss and apparently I left work just after, without getting approval, and I don’t remember a damn thing about it. She told me to go home for the day.”

Fucking Malcolm, out to mess up Ian’s life...again. 

“I’m sorry, are you gonna be okay?” Mickey abandoned the break room, walked through the bullpen and outside to start his car. It would take a second to heat up.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore, but I’m kinda in trouble for leaving. Is it okay for the officer here to take me back to the hotel room, or do I still need to go to the precinct?”

So, Ian had remembered the call, interesting. “I’m actually not sure yet. We didn’t count on you leaving work early but I’m pretty sure you’re gonna have to come here.”

“Yeah, I figured.” 

God, he sounded so tired. “My boss wasn’t expecting you until tonight, maybe you can lay down when you get here. We are still in the middle of it.”

“I took my meds but they don’t seem to be helping very much anymore. I don’t even remember leaving work, or why I was gone for over an hour.”

Mickey got in his car, his teeth chattering against the harsh wind. “I know you said you’ve seen a doctor but maybe you should get a second opinion. The headaches are getting worse and you’re having them more often, now you don’t remember what happens after.”

“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing. I might take tomorrow off and see if I can make an appointment.” 

If a doctor saw the same signs he did, if Ian told them what was going on, maybe they’d come to the same conclusion that Ian was not alone in his own body. Then they could help him, they could treat him. It was definitely worth a shot, then Ian could get some real help, some answers. 

“Yeah, that might help.” Mickey pulled into the flow of traffic. “I’m gonna call my boss and see what he wants to do now that you’re off early. I’ll call you back and let you know, okay?”

Ian hummed. “Yeah, thanks Mickey.”

Mickey smiled. “Anytime.” He ended the call and speed dialed his boss. It rang twice before it was answered so try a rude ‘what’ like he didn’t care who was on the other line. “Hey, captain. I just left Marlowe with a few new ideas about the decoy plan and left to get lunch. I just got a call from Gallagher saying his boss wants to send him home early. Do you want him at the precinct or back at the hotel?”

“The precinct. The officer with him has been on him since this morning. I sent someone else to swap the shifts.”

“I’m already out, if you want me to swing by.” Mickey offered cautiously, not wanting to step over the line Royce carved firmly into the ground. “It saves on overtime and I don’t mind bringing him back with me.”

Royce sighed. “Fine, but no messing around. You take your hour for lunch, pick up Gallagher and bring him back here. I don’t think we are ready for him yet but he can cool his heels until we need him.”

Mickey pulled up outside of his favorite Chinese place and turned off his car. “Alright, see you in a bit.” Royce ended the call without a goodbye, his signature farewell. He dialed Ian back as he ran inside, paid for his order and stepped out again just as Ian answered.

“Hey, that was fast.”

“With good news too. I’m gonna come pick you up. We need to get your stuff from the hotel and come back to the precinct. They aren’t ready for you yet, which means you can chill out, take a nap if you want. Maybe it’ll help your head.”

“That is good news. Thanks. Sorry you gotta keep babysitting me.”

Mickey drove towards Ian’s work, picking pieces of sesame chicken out of one of the bowls. “No reason to be sorry. I wanna come get you.” He could practically see Ian’s smile. “I’m on my way now. Just stay inside until I get there, okay?”

“Alright. I need to finish up anyway and talk to my boss about tomorrow.”

“See you soon.” Mickey waited for Ian to say goodbye, then hung up. He kept eating as he drove, wondering if that intense feeling would come back being around Ian as it did with Malcolm. It seemed impossible to look at one man and see two people, but he did, multiple times. He knew when it was Ian and when it was Malcolm, even when physically Ian never changed. 

Fifteen minutes and one container of sesame chicken later, Mickey pulled into the parking lot of Ian’s work. He told the officer parked out front what was going on and happily sent him on his way home for some much needed sleep. Watching someone for close to eight hours was harder than it sounded. Doing nothing was hard, you got restless sometimes, sleepy, and no amount of coffee helped. The officer was happy to leave, mumbling a tired thank you before he drove off. 

Mickey went inside, feeling out of place when everyone was there. The last time he was there it had just been them. Now he stood at the front, hands in his pockets and looked around for Ian. Unfortunately someone noticed him before he located Ian. 

“Yes, can I help you?” She asked with a smile. 

Mickey recognized her from before, when he first met Ian. She didn’t seem to know him though. “Yeah, I’m here to pick up Ian Gallagher.”

“Yes, he is expecting you. He should be here in a moment.”

She was gone before he could even say thank you. Speed walking like it was her job. Luckily he didn’t have to wait long. Ian showed up five minutes later, carrying his briefcase and a set of shoulders that looked weighed down by the entire world. He slumped forward, and his eyes were dark, but he still managed a smile for him. 

“Thanks for coming.” Ian stopped beside him. “I really don’t want to be here today.”

“Yeah, I understand.” Mickey reached for Ian’s briefcase before he could think about it. It wasn’t heavy, Ian wasn’t having a hard time carrying it alone, it just seemed like something he should do. Maybe to take some of that weight off. Ian smiled again. “You ready to go?”

Ian bumped his shoulder as they moved towards the door. “Yeah, more than ready.”

They walked outside, got into the car and Mickey offered Ian the second box of food inside the brown paper bag. Ian objected at first but when his stomach growled, he gave in and ate quietly as he drove back to the hotel in silence. By the time they arrived, Ian finished the container of orange chicken, an entire box of fried rice and half a box of white rice. Mickey didn’t mind, not one bit because Ian had that sleepy, content look on his face. 

“I swear I feel dead on my feet.” Ian said after a moment of not moving to get out of the car. “Everything feels so hard.”

Mickey turned the car off and adjusted to see him better. “I can go pack your things if you want. It won’t take me long.”

“No, I can’t do that.” Ian reached for the door lever but his hand dropped before he could open it. “I swear I slept last night, but it feels like I was up the entire night.”

Because he was. “I really don’t mind, Ian. And I promise not to snoop.”

Ian smiled at that. “Nothing much to snoop on unless you’re after my underwear.”

Mickey grinned. “I might be.” He joked easily, then opened his door and balanced on the seat. Ian looked ready to pass out. His eyes were slits again, barely managing to stay open to keep eye contact and when Ian shifted and hair fell into his eyes, Mickey reached out and tucked the unruly piece behind his ear, where it barely managed to stay. Ian’s smile somehow softened. “I’ll be right back.”

“Thank you.” Ian caught his wrist before he was out of reach. “For everything.”

With a quick squeeze of his hand, Mickey didn’t waste any time. He took the extra key card and unlocked the door and let himself in. Aside from a few stray pieces of clothing piled on the chair, most of his clothes were still in his bag. Mickey put the clothes in the chair into a grocery bag and tied it, then stuffed it into the bigger bag. He tucked the bottle of tequila and limes into another bag, then got Ian’s small bathroom bag, then a jacket that was hanging behind the door. He did one more sweep of the room, almost left a charger that had been plugged into the wall, then left his keycard on the dresser, and let himself out. 

After putting the bag in the back seat, Mickey got in and tried to be as quiet as possible. Ian was fully asleep now, snoring softly, facing his direction. He looked relaxed. Mickey drove them back to the precinct, staying a steady speed so it didn’t wake him, he stopped at all lights and stop signs even when he used to blow through one or two, he contained his road rage and didn’t yell at the stupid people driving around him, he didn’t even mess with the radio. They pulled up, parked and Mickey turned the car off and there was just silence.

If there was a way to get Ian inside without waking him up, he would have taken it. As fit as he was for someone ten years older than Ian, he couldn’t lift all that extra height. He’d end up dropping Ian and waking him up anyway. Mickey turned again, moving that one piece of hair back, but it just kept falling. He must have done it at least five times before Ian shifted, waking up due to the tickle across his forehead when that hair moved back again. Sleepy green eyes opened slowly, confusion was there for just a moment before the most blinding smile Mickey had ever seen from him. 

“Hey.” Mickey whispered, as if people were inside the car with them and he wanted to keep their conversation private. He didn’t take his hand back, it just kinda rested against Ian’s cheek. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Had to happen sometime.” Ian whispered also, and did what he wanted and nuzzled into Mickey’s hand. It was warm, soft, comforting. “What were you doing?”

“You have this unruly piece of hair that always falls in your eyes.” Mickey didn’t shake Ian’s cheek from his palm, but moved his finger, almost pointing to the piece of hair. “It always falls in the same place and never stays put.”

“It’s done that for years.” Ian closed his eyes. “I haven’t had my hair this short in awhile. Usually I can just brush it back and it actually stays.”

They stayed that way for a moment too long and Ian was almost asleep again. Mickey moved his thumb across Ian’s cheek and it woke him up again. “We should go inside. You can lay down in there.”

“Alright.”

Mickey was about to pull away when Ian kissed his hand, a kiss so soft he wasn’t sure if happened until that entire arm started to tingle. Ian got out without a word and Mickey followed, he took Ian’s overnight bag and his briefcase and didn’t give it back when Ian argued. He did let him carry the rest of the food though. Ian wasn’t annoyed, not like he pretended to be, in fact he seemed flattered, his face heating. Or that could have been warm skin against the harsh, cold wind. Either way, Ian bumped his shoulder again and they walked in together.

The precinct was as busy as when he left and Mickey led Ian through the crowd of desks in the bullpen, then the holding cells and all the offices, down the long hallway until he reached the overnight bunks. They were mostly used for officers on call for extended periods of time. They could rest and be up and back at work at the drop of a hat. It wasn’t like Ian’s hotel, it was a row of bunk beds, like you might see in a foster home, or juvenile detention. They each had what was needed to sleep, a thin mattress with clean sheets and a thicker top blanket, a pillow, but that was all. Nothing extra. The beds weren’t awful, but again, it wasn’t like the hotel. 

“Cozy.” Ian said dryly and laughed at Mickey’s facial expression. “I’ve stayed in worse.”

Mickey set the bag down next to the first bunk. “Yeah, me too. And it’s not as bad as it looks. It’s not nearly as comfortable but it’ll do for a night. I’ve stayed here more than I have my own apartment.”

“Says the guy that has stayed up all night for a steak out.” 

“Yeah, that’s true.” Mickey smiled. “As tired as you look, sleep shouldn’t be a problem.”

“It’s fine, thank you.”

They stood there, just staring at each other and Mickey couldn’t look away from that sleepy look on his face. He was so soft. That’s the only thing that came to mind at the moment, was soft. He’d been staring for some time, and Ian didn’t seem to mind. He met and held his eyes and something passed between them. Mickey didn’t know what it was, but it had happened every time they were alone since he first met him. 

“I should probably get back to work.” Mickey said after a moment, trying to break free of whatever was holding them together. “You gonna be okay?”

Ian nodded. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I always worry.” Mickey said without meaning to. “Stuff like this gets ugly before it gets better. I don’t want that for you.”

“And you can’t tell me anything about what happened this morning?”

“No, not yet. That’s what we have to talk about later on.”

“But it does have to do with the guy following me, right?”

Mickey nodded. “Yeah, it does. We mostly just need information from you, ask a few questions. You stay here tonight so we can make sure you’re safe and we know where you are.”

“I’m not sure I wanna be alone here.”

“I know.” Mickey moved closer, trying to offer comfort when he wasn’t supposed to. “You’re safe here, Ian. I promise.”

“I’m just tired of all this. I wanna go home. I want to get back to normal.” Ian sat down, instantly leaving forward to put his head in his hands. “And I’m so fucking tired.”

Mickey hated seeing him this way. It had been one occurrence after another and Ian had been put through the ringer at every turn. Not wanting to add to Ian’s emotional state in fear of Malcolm making a surprise return, Mickey stood in front of Ian and gently laid his hands on his tense shoulders. Ian jumped a little, but settled after a moment when he started to knead the muscles there. Slow, even rolls of his hands, his thumbs digging in by his neck, doing his best to help. 

“I know it’s been rough, but you’re doing a good job.” Mickey was honest, his voice low and soothing, like his hands on Ian’s shoulders. “You just gotta hang in there and it’ll all be over soon.”

“I feel like I’m not even living my life anymore, Mickey. I’m just getting up, afraid someone is watching me. I go to work, have extremely painful headaches and have to be escorted to a hotel by a cop. That doesn’t feel like living.”

Mickey sighed. “Because it’s not. It’s just surviving until we solve this case. Then you can go home and get back to normal. You can sleep in your own bed and not be afraid anymore.”

Ian looked up, and he was close, close enough for Mickey’s shirt to brush against his face multiple times. “What if you don’t find him, then what? It’s been less than a full week and it feels like years have gone by. I can’t do this, Mick.”

Shit, shit. Ian was getting overwhelmed again, just like all those other times and Malcolm warned him. He needed to keep Ian calm or risk Malcolm coming out in the middle of a police station. That itself was frightening, so much so that Mickey bent down, almost on his knees, until he could cup Ian’s flushed face. 

“Breathe with me, okay?” Mickey inhaled deeply, then exhaled, showing him. “Come on, breathe with me. You don’t need to have a panic attack.”

Ian copied his breathing, even moved his hands on top of Mickey’s, holding him back. 

“There ya go, that’s it.” Mickey smiled, his thumbs moving across Ian’s face again. “I promise, I will make sure nothing happens to you, okay? I just need you to hold on for me while I figure this out.”

“I’m trying.” Ian pleaded, almost whining and he hated it. 

“You’re doing good.” Mickey pulled Ian closer and leaned down at the same time until their foreheads touched. He could see the wetness pooling in his eyes, giving that glossed over look and clumping his long eyelashes. “I just need you to keep trying for me.”

Ian nodded. He blinked and the tears fell. 

“Look at me.” Mickey prompted softly when Ian looked down and wouldn’t meet his eyes. After a moment, he did and they still looked sad and defeated. “You have to trust me.”

“I do.”

“I hope so.” Mickey whispered, then softly pressed their lips together. It lasted seconds, and when he pulled back, the tears that welled in Ian’s eyes fell, and he was staring at him with wonder. It was clear Ian hadn’t been expecting that by the surprised look, but unlike Malcolm, Ian wasn’t pushy, he didn’t demand more. He just waited and waited. So, Mickey kissed him again, a little bit longer this time and felt Ian’s mouth twitch, kissing him back a second before he pulled away. 

“What was that for?” Ian asked, his voice quiet, soft. 

Mickey just kissed him again, quicker this time, then wiped away those tears with his thumbs. “Because I’ve been wanting to do that since this morning, and because you’re trusting me. That takes more courage than facing what you’re afraid of.”

Ian smiled. “Well, I’m sure if you keep doing that, I won’t be afraid anymore.”

“Maybe.” Mickey smiled also, and because he couldn’t help himself, he kissed him again, this time Ian’s hand moved to his cheek and with just a little pressure, he deepened the kiss, forcing them to let out a muffled groan before they parted. “I’ll come back and check on you in a bit, okay?”

“I’ll be here.”

Mickey stood so he didn’t kiss him again, although he didn’t know why he ran his hand into Ian’s hair as he did so, ruffling it in an affectionate way. “You better be.” He left Ian in there before they got even more carried away, the last thing he needed was for them to get caught. 

By the time he made it back down the hall to the conference room he’d been using, he could hear Marlowe talking rather loudly, like she was commanding troops. He listened for a moment, hearing her go over the plan again and again and knew it would only be a matter of time before she would need to talk to Ian about the details. When she did that, her plan would no doubt be airtight for Royce to approve. 

Now, if only it would work.


	9. Clarity

Beneath the Surface  
Chapter 9– Clarity 

It had been more than six hours since he picked Ian up from work and got him settled in the bunks at the precinct. During that time, while Ian slept, Mickey went over both cases again, just to give himself something to do besides keep peeking in on Ian to see if he was okay. He didn’t learn anything he didn’t already know, but it kept him busy after pacing the door to the bunks. 

Marlowe stopped by a time or two to ask his opinion on something, but didn’t clue him into the plan because it wasn’t ready yet. She still needed to talk to Ian. Royce called him a few times, to check in on the cases and Ian, then hung up without a goodbye and hadn’t called since. He was burning his time until he could talk to Ian. 

When absolutely nothing else could be learned from the cases, and his vision started to blur the two, Mickey stepped away and diverted his attention to something else. He spent nearly two hours online, searching for information on multiple personality disorders, or DID, dissociative identity disorder. A disorder characterized by the presence of two or more distinct personality states. Dissociative identity disorder is usually a reaction to trauma as a way to help a person avoid bad memories—like with Ian’s childhood trauma. A few side effects were; Behavioral: impulsivity, self-destructive behavior, or self-harm. Mood: anxiety, feeling detached from self, or mood swings. Psychological: altered consciousness, depression, or flashback. Also common: amnesia or blackouts. 

So far he experienced Ian having anxiety, altered consciousness, mild depression, and blackouts. He wasn’t sure about the rest, which meant he needed to ask Ian himself but Ian would most likely need to know why he was asking in the first place. Deep down, he knew he needed to tell Ian, but he was almost certain it needed to be after the case was declared cold, or inactive. Knowing Ian, knowing what kind of person he was, he would want to take responsibility for what Malcolm had done, even when technically it wasn’t his own fault. It was risky.

Mickey learned there was treatment for DID, mostly therapy and medications to help get control of the other personality. That would require Ian to actually believe him about Malcolm and accept it and want to get help for it. That would be a long ways off, because Ian didn’t even know yet, he couldn’t possibly try to conquer it right now. Mickey really hoped Ian made that doctor's appointment for tomorrow like he said he would. Maybe they could see some of the same signs and make their own assumptions. Ian was more likely to believe a doctor than him. 

When the door opened behind him, Mickey closed the laptop rather loudly and looked up to see Marlowe standing in the doorway, her eyes hard and curious to his behavior. He felt foolish for acting like he had, but it was too late for a do over. “Hey, what’s up?”

“I wanted to let you know that we are ready to talk to Gallagher. Captain wants you to wake him up, caffeinate him and bring him to interrogation one.”

Mickey stood and grabbed his suit jacket off the back of his chair. “Does it have to be in the interrogation room? I mean, he hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“That’s what the captain said. I’m sure because he wants to watch us and Gallagher when we talk to him. You know that’s how he operates.”

They left the room together and walked towards the bullpen. “Yeah, but that seems a little extreme. The kid has been through the grinder more times than we can count and we know he didn’t do this.”

“If you wanna try and change his mind, go ahead but it’s nearing midnight and he isn’t in the mood.” Marlowe stopped at the door to the other conference room. “Just get him there and we can make this quick.”

Mickey left her there and went to the captain's office. He didn’t go in. He wanted to, but he was already pushing his luck. Anything else and Royce would likely take him off the case. To keep his job, Mickey went to Ian and he wasn’t surprised to see him still asleep. He faced away from him with the blanket pulled up over his head. The only thing he could see was his hair sticking out the top. It was cuter than it should have been. 

As not to startle him away and risk a punch to the face, Mickey opened the door without a sound and kept light on his feet. He took a seat behind him, balancing on the edge of the bunk and slowly pulled the blanket down. He didn’t look as pale as he did before, the dark bags under his eyes weren’t as dark and he seemed rather peaceful. It meant the sleep was helping and of course he would be the bad guy and have to disrupt that sleep, only to put more undue stress on him. 

“Ian.” Mickey kept his voice soft and lightly shook his shoulder. When he actually slept, he slept hard. Ian didn’t even move. So he did it again and this time Ian rolled onto his back. “You gotta wake up for me.”

Ian groaned, turning to his other side. 

Mickey smiled, he was even softer when he was asleep. That hair fell into his eyes again and he couldn’t help but brush it back and for some reason that was the go-to for waking Ian up, because when Mickey looked down, his eyes were opening. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Ian blinked rapidly, squinting against the harsh light above, then gave a look around. “Almost forgot where I was.”

“It’s easy to do that.” Mickey took his hand back but Ian didn’t move, even when he was fully against his side from where he turned. “Sorry to wake you up.”

“How long have I been asleep?”

“Almost seven hours.” Mickey chuckled at Ian’s expression, then moved over a little when he sat up, propped against the headboard. “I came by a few times to check on you but you were sleeping hard.”

“Jesus, I haven’t slept that long in weeks.” Ian stretched, arms above his head as far as they could go until his shoulder popped. 

“Do you feel any better?”

“Yeah, I do. The bed wasn’t so bad after all.”

Mickey smiled. “Well, you look better.”

“Gee, thanks. Just what every guy wants to hear.” Ian joked. “So, I guess you waking me up means it’s time to get back to work.”

“Yeah, they’re ready for you.” Mickey stood, letting Ian swing his legs over the side. “We have time to get you some coffee but that’s about it.”

“Yes, coffee please. Is this going to be how it is in those cop shows? You know, in one of those awful rooms, where your dick of a boss watches and I ask for a lawyer during the good cop bad cop thing?”

“It might be.” Mickey chuckled again, Ian described it perfectly. “We do have to do this in an interrogation room, bosses orders. And it won’t just be me and you there, my partner will be asking questions and my boss will probably be watching.” 

“What if they ask me about last night?”

Mickey bit the inside of his cheek. “I’m sure they will. And I told them I was with you last night until late, then checked on you this morning.”

“Well, that’s not exactly a lie.” Ian stood, smirking. “Guess we should leave out all the other stuff?”

His entire body was hot in an instant, as it always got whenever he thought about their time together—his time with Malcolm. It didn’t help the way Ian smirked, even if he didn’t remember. “Yeah, we should. Just say we talked until late, you stayed at the hotel and I woke you up this morning before an officer arrived to take you to work.”

“I don’t want you to get in trouble.” Ian said in all seriousness. “Not after all you’ve done to help me. I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”

If that didn’t hit him right in the heart… It forced him to take a deep breath and a step back so he didn’t just kiss him again. “I just want you to tell them the truth, aside from last night. Answer their questions honestly, directly and without hesitation if you can. They sense stuff like that in an instant. Don’t offer up any additional information unless they ask specifically.”

Ian narrowed his eyes. “I thought you said I wasn’t a suspect.”

“You’re not, but they need their questions to align with your answers without any problems. Most people talk their way into other holes, they bury themselves. I don’t want that to happen to you.” Mickey sighed, getting stressed just thinking about what was about to happen. Ian was worried, he was worried. “I can’t help you in there, not with them watching so closely. My partner already thinks I’ve crossed a line with you, multiple lines and she's right, she just can’t prove it.”

“I’m nervous.” Ian admitted. “When they called me yesterday about Tate...I wasn’t prepared to hear that. But then it’s like I blackout the rest of the night. I just can’t remember.”

“You called me to pick you up, we stopped at some fast food joint, the liquor store, then back to the hotel.” Mickey was hand feeding him the timeline, which would be the end of his career if anyone found out. “Tell them about the headache, I’m sure they have the phone records from your job, or cellphone as a precaution, it’ll show you called me.”

“This is really making me feel like I did something.” Ian started to pace, growing more and more agitated by the moment. “This is the shit they do with suspects, not the victim of stalking. Someone is after me, Mickey. Or did they forget?”

Ian was getting worked up again, if he pushed too hard and Ian felt like he couldn’t handle it, Malcolm would come out to play. Mickey gripped both of Ian’s arms and held tightly so he couldn’t move. Ian just looked blankly down at him. “They didn’t forget, trust me. We are all working our asses off to find this guy, but we need your help. Anything you tell us will help with that, even if it sounds like it’s mostly about you. Because it is. This guys entire scope is just about you. We need to figure out why and only you can help.”

Ian took a deep breath. “I could use a drink.”

Mickey smiled and released him, only to affectionately caress the side of Ian’s face. He did so without thought, without reason. “After this is over, I’ll get you that drink. I promise.” 

“I’ll hold you to that.” Ian gripped Mickey’s wrist, the one holding his face, he squeezed, then leaned down until their noses bumped. “Kiss for luck?”

“I really shouldn’t.” Mickey countered quickly, but was already lifting on his toes to kiss him. It was fast, not long enough to be satisfying, but it was all they had time for. All those little tingles spread throughout his body, not fear, like he felt around Malcolm, but exhilaration. “Come on, let’s get you some coffee.”

“After you.” 

Mickey moved before he wasn’t able to anymore. He held the door open and they made a stop at the break room. Mickey gave Ian the largest cup they had, even managed to steal him a donut from the box on the counter, it was gone in a flash. He ate it just in time for the door to the interrogation room to come into view. 

“I hope that stays down.” Ian said, staring at the door with a hand on his stomach. “I haven’t felt this nervous in years.”

“Just try to stay calm, remember to breathe and keep your cool, even if they don’t. Some questions might be offensive, or direct, invasive even. If you need a break, I’ll see what I can do.” Mickey had the urge to reach out and comfort him, but he couldn’t. It was bad that he had the urge in the first place. “And if you can help it, try not to call me Mickey.”

Ian smiled.

“It’s personal.” Mickey explained, meeting Ian’s smile with one of his own. “They’ll ask about that too. Detective works.”

“Anything you say, detective.”

A chill went down his spine, forcing goosebumps to flare from inside his shirt, up the back of his neck and back down his arms. Malcolm liked to call him that, he said it as a term of endearment and as an insult. He loved it almost as much as he hated it. 

“Alright, go ahead. I’ll be in there in a second.” Mickey opened the door and the room was empty, he knew Maslow and Royce were already watching. “Don’t fidget, don’t sleep, just sit there and you’ll be fine.”

“Thank you.”

Mickey closed the door, took a moment to compose himself, mentally and physically. His tie was crooked from where he pulled on it, the back of his shirt was untucked. He even made sure he didn’t have any stains from his random alley blow job, then walked down the hall and into the other side of the interrogation room. Royce and Marlowe were already inside like he figured they would be, he had coffee, she had a stack of files and a notepad, and he could see Ian sitting there, eyes forward just like he told him to. 

“He looks alright.” Marlowe commented without sarcasm, just mild interest. 

“Yeah, he pretty much slept the entire time. I can’t imagine him getting much of that lately.” Mickey joined them at the window, doing his best not to look at Ian with the same infatuation he felt. “He’s nervous, but not like he’s done something wrong, more like he doesn’t understand why he’s in an interrogation room in the first place.”

“It’s protocol, Mickey, you know that.” Royce commented harshly. “We have to do this by the book as much as we can. No, he didn’t do anything wrong but it has to be professional.”

Mickey could feel Marlowe’s eyes on him, waiting. “Let’s just keep that in mind when we question him, okay? He’s been through enough.”

“You’re going to, not Marlowe.” Royce demanded softly. 

Marlowe looked just as surprised as he did. “Sir, I thought we were doing this together?”

“I’m the one who needed to talk to him.”

“I decided for you. Mickey will go in and question him, they have a connection, he trusts him. The last thing we need is to freak him out.” Royce held his hand out for the files and within seconds they were handed over. He gave them to Mickey. “She made a list of questions, make sure to ask those first, then any more if you think of anything.”

Mickey was still looking at Marlowe. She looked like she was about to pop her top, her face was nearly red, steam was about to come out of her ears at any moment. She wasn’t happy and couldn’t do a damn thing about this, either could he. He tucked the files under his arm and left. Seconds later, he entered the room and told himself to remain processional. Ian looked up, masking the big smile he had ready and settled for a friendly one. 

“Ian, thanks for coming,” Mickey sat down, biting the inside of his cheek. The first mistake he made was using his first name. “I’m sorry it’s so late.”

“It’s alright.” Ian replied and sipped his coffee. “What’s this about?”

The list of questions on the notepad were extensive. Covering almost all of one entire page. He would need to ask them all at some point. “We just need to ask you a few questions. We had another incident this morning we need to talk to you about.”

Ian nodded, not volunteering any information, just like Mickey told him to. He just waited. 

“Can you tell me how you know Tate Robertson?” Mickey asked, pen at the ready. He knew it was all being recorded but writing would give him something to do aside from being nervous. 

“Yeah, he used to tutor me when I was younger.” Ian said directly, then looked down. “I was living with the Moore’s at the time.”

“When’s the last time you had any contact with him?” Mickey asked, but he hesitated. Only question two and it was about to get messy. They already knew Ian had been in a sexual relationship with Robertson, but Ian didn’t know that because it wasn’t actually him. 

“It’s been years. I haven’t seen him since I lived there.”

Mickey nodded. “We interviewed Robertson a few days ago. We asked him about what happened with the Moore’s and he verified your story.” He stopped because Ian smiled, relieved. “He also said that you two were in a sexual relationship. Can you tell me anything about that?”

The smile slipped as quickly as it arrived and Ian actually looked shocked. This was news to him. “Why would he say that? I haven’t seen him since that day mister Moore threw a chair through the window. That was the last time I ever saw him.”

“He claimed that you two reconnected at a bar in Joliet, where he lived, about a month before your foster parents died. He said you two caught up, then you propositioned him and it went back to his place.” Mickey felt so awful saying all this. He knew the fucking truth. He knew it. “You’re saying that was a lie?”

“You’re damn right it was a lie,” Ian snapped. “The only thing I have time for is work. I sleep, wake up and go back to work, over and over again. If I had any sexual contact, it wouldn’t be with someone from my past.”

Mickey waited for the next question, giving Ian a chance to calm down. Green eyes met his, confused, a little hurt, maybe. He hated it. “I’m not sure why he told us a different story. And I’m not sure if we would be able to verify that one way or another.”

Ian clenched his jaw but didn’t say anything. 

“Robertson’s phone records show he made a call to you two days ago, and if the timeline is right, you would have been at work.” Mickey dug into the file and handed Ian the phone record, the particular call was highlighted. “It lasted around thirty seconds.”

Ian nodded. “He did call me. I’m not sure how he got my number though.”

“And what did he say?”

Ian scrunched his eyebrows, trying to recall. “The only thing he said was that the cops talked to him about what happened back then with the Moore’s.”

Mickey nodded. “And you ended the call after that?”

“Yes, I didn’t want to get into it with him, especially at work. I got a migraine and hung up on him.” 

Enter Malcolm. 

“The only reason I ask, is because the morning after, around six, Robertson was murdered and we believe it was the same person who killed your foster parents.” 

“Why would he target Tate?” Ian asked, eyes wide. “That’s been over and done with for years.”

“The crime scene speaks for itself. I don’t want to show you the pictures because they are rather gruesome, but it’s clear Robertson was killed because he spoke to us about you. Just like this guy scaring your neighbor when this first started. Anyone close to you, seems to be a target.”

Ian ran his hands into his hair, then over his face. “I promise. I wasn’t having sex with Tate and I don’t know why this is happening.”

Mickey put his hand out, almost covering Ian’s before he stopped himself, instead, he put it flat on the table. “Ian, you’re not a suspect here. These are just questions we have to ask, it’s procedure.” When Ian didn’t respond, Mickey went along with his next question. “You said you were at your hotel at six that morning, is there anyone to verify that?”

“Yeah, you.” Ian said directly and without hesitation. “You were knocking on my door just before seven that morning to let me know an officer would take me to work.” 

“And what about earlier that night, after work.” Mickey didn’t phrase it as a question. This is why Marlowe was supposed to be in there. He felt stupid asking questions he already had the answers to.

“I called you for a ride home, like you told me, that was around five, six, maybe. I asked to stop to get food and made a stop at the liquor store before you drove me back to the hotel.”

Mickey dug back into the file and handed Ian a record of his credit card transactions. “We have a record here and it does show those stops. Like I said, we just need to ask, even if I already knew that.”

“Yeah, I understand.” Ian grabbed his coffee and warmed his hands. “Is that all?”

“Of those kinds of questions, yes. Those were the hardest ones. We have something in the works right now, a plan to see if we can put an end to this. So far, we don’t know much about this guy, aside from his obsession with you.” Mickey waited until Ian looked up at him. “Our plan is to try and lure him out, to catch him trying to make a move.”

Ian’s eyes widened. “Like trying to come for me?”

“Yes. Obsessions like this are dangerous. It’s not just about him following you and scaring your neighbors, he’s killing for you, he’s taking out anyone he sees as competition. Now as bad as that is, it does get worse, eventually watching you won’t be enough for him. He’s going to need more, he’s going to need you.” 

The lies were building up in his mind, like a brick wall. Lie after lie stacked until it was impossible to get over, or through. But all it took is one crack and the entire thing would crumble down around him and he’d be trapped under what was left. He decided, just then, that when this plan didn’t work—because it couldn’t work, that he was going to tell Ian what was going on. He was going to tell him about Malcolm. He could lie to his partner and his boss, but not to Ian. 

“That’s why I’m here, right, so that doesn’t happen?”

“Yes, but we can’t keep you here for the rest of your life and this isn’t going away any time soon. We want to pretend to give him what he wants, then get him before he gets it. It won’t be you, of course, but an officer. We need to know a little more about your day to day life, to see when and where the best place for this will be.”

Ian nodded, relaxing a little now that his personal and sexual life wasn’t under a microscope. “My life is pretty small, detective. I go to work and come home.”

Mickey bit the inside of his cheek when he said detective. It was instinctual now. “What about your social life, friends?”

“I don’t really have any.” Ian answered honestly. “I haven’t really been social my entire life. I like to keep to myself.”

“That makes it easier.” Mickey met Ian’s eyes and silently let him know that he was doing good. He wasn’t sure how Ian knew that’s what he meant but he did know he got the message. “Your work is too big of a place with far too many people. We were thinking about doing it near your apartment building.”

“There are a lot of people there too.”

“Yes, but none that he could see. We can easily clear all the units in proximity to yours, set up officers all around, even cameras if we need to. But we will need access to your apartment.” Mickey slid another paper to him, and added a pen. “This is just an agreement, another thing that’s required. Basically we need your permission to use your place.” 

Ian quickly sighed it and slid it back over. “As long as I don’t have to pay for any damages.” 

Mickey smiled. “It’ll all be covered, trust me. And thank you. I wanted to let you know that aside from access inside, your personal items won’t be gone through. We don’t poke or snoop around, we just need a secluded place.”

“You already snooped, remember?” Ian smiled and covered it with his hand. “What’s one more time?”

“That part is always hard, on both sides.” Mickey tucked the paper back into the folder. “We need to do this as soon as possible before he decides he doesn’t want to wait any more to have your undivided attention. I can’t give you an exact date, but within the next day or so.”

“Will I be going back to the hotel then?”

Mickey looked at the mirror, he couldn’t see them, but he was telling them to make a decision before they were done there. “I’m sure that will be decided before all this happens. We don’t want you anywhere near your apartment when this goes down. For now, you stay here. I don’t want him scooping you up.”

“Yeah, that would be bad.” Ian shook his head. “Is there a reason he’s doing all this? Not just what happened to the Moore’s but all of it. Why me? What’s so special about me?”

Everything, Mickey thought in an instant. The first thing to come to mind was usually true, it was before you could process the information thoroughly, before you could lie to yourself, or say you didn’t mean it. 

“That’s going to be the hardest question to answer and I’m not sure I can.” Mickey set the folder aside and linked his hands in front of him. “I can only tell you what I think, but I’m not a professional at this sort of thing.”

Ian held his hands out. “I wanna hear it.”

“He’s close to you, very close. It’s possible it’s a family member, maybe one you know, or one you don’t. It could be a friend, probably from your childhood. Someone who knew what was going on when you were in foster care.” Mickey was attempting to tell him about Malcolm, without saying it when they weren’t alone. “I’m sure he witnessed what happened to you and for some reason he took it personally. Your pain became his pain, your grief, his grief. He took what happened to you personally and has been attached to you since then.”

“I never told anyone about what happened.” Ian insisted. “As bad as it was, it would have been worse if someone found out. They made sure to keep it behind closed doors, no marks where anyone could see them, or question the reason behind it. I don’t know how anyone could have known.”

Mickey nodded in understanding. His next round of lies was coming and it left a bad taste in his mouth. “But the school did question it. They saw the bruises, the broken arm, that means other kids did as well. Kids have a weird habit of putting two and two together faster than adults do. They see things we don’t sometimes.”

“My friends didn’t even know; what friends I did have before everything went to hell. They didn’t ask what happened or comment on my arm, or the bruises.” Ian insisted yet again, not getting agitated but worked up all the same. “To be honest, I don’t even remember half the time they hit me. When I try and think back on it, I only remember what came after. Me cleaning up blood from a split lip or icing a sore spot, or cradling my arm. But I can’t remember the actual beating.”

Ian hadn’t been strong enough to deal with it, to take the pain, so Malcolm did. He said as much. 

“Sometimes something is so traumatic that we block it out on purpose so we can survive what’s happening.” Mickey said ‘we’ on purpose and Ian caught on instantly, but didn’t comment. “It’s easier to pretend it’s happening to someone else. It’s almost like you’re looking down on what’s happening, instead of feeling it.”

“Is there a clinical term for that?”

“I’m sure there is, but I’m not a doctor.” Mickey smiled sadly. “That might be something to look into, hmm?”

“Yeah, definitely.” Ian pushed his coffee cup around, breaking eye contact for a moment while he took in the information. “It’s just weird to think that someone paid that much attention to me, but didn’t help me when I needed it. They didn’t tell anyone.”

“Maybe they did. Maybe he was the one to tip the school off about your arm.” Mickey suggested, lying but it didn’t seem as harsh when they were just bouncing ideas back and forth. “The truth is, we may never know why he did or didn’t do this. Sometimes there is no reason for someone latching onto someone else. It just happens.”

“I guess maybe if you catch him, we can ask.” Ian shook his head, not believing his own lie. “I don’t see why he killed Tate, but I can’t be upset about the Moore’s. I just can’t.”

This time Mickey reached out and let his hand rest against both of Ian’s. It was intimate, but not exceedingly so. It got Ian to look up at him so it was worth it. “What he’s done isn’t your fault. He made those choices himself. They were bad people, Ian. And I’m not saying what he did was right, but I understand it and you don’t have to feel guilty for not being upset.”

“Doesn’t that make me...I don’t know, a psychopath, maybe?” 

“No, it doesn’t. They hurt you, now they can’t anymore.” Mickey squeezed Ian’s hand once before he forced himself to move it. “Look, it’s late. Let me ask my boss if we are done here and you can get some rest.”

Ian smiled as much as he could. “Yeah, that would be good. Thanks.”

Mickey grabbed the files and joined Marlowe and Royce in the other room. He handed her the flies, then crossed his arms across his chest and watched Ian put his head on his arms and lay down. He was exhausted. “Are we done?”

“Well, he answered all my questions.” Marlowe looked over the checklist. “He gave us more than I assumed he would. And he did give us permission to use his apartment. I don’t see the need to keep him in there.”

“Good.” Mickey released the breath he’d been holding. 

“But I am wondering why Robertson would lie about his relationship with Ian.” Marlowe continued. “It’s clear that Ian is telling the truth. His reaction was visceral. You can’t fake emotion like that. So, why lie to us? What did Robertson hope to accomplish by saying they slept together when they didn’t?”

Ian was telling the truth, and he alone knew the real story. Robertson had been sleeping with Malcolm, not Ian and given that Marlowe believed him said a thousand words. It sounds as if she was finally on his side instead of pointing the finger at him at any turn. 

“Well, we can’t ask him and there was no proof of their relationship. We saw Robertson’s phone records, he didn’t make any calls to Ian’s cell phone aside from that afternoon before he was killed.” Mickey pointed out, just because it made him feel better. “I believe that.”

“As do I.” Royce cut in, his own arms were crossed as he looked at them. “Okay, Gallagher stays here until we get this asshole. Can’t risk him or any officers trying to watch him at a hotel. We get this plan in motion in two days, tell the manager at his apartment building but keep the rest to yourself. The less people know the better chance we have. The day before this happens, we clear out all the residents on his side of the complex, I don’t want any civilian casualties.”

Two days sleeping in the bunks, that would be rough. A few hours was great, a night, doable, but more than two days...that wasn’t what it was used for but they didn’t have a choice. Ian would be with them at all times. 

“Is he allowed to go to work?” Mickey asked. 

“Get his boss on the phone, send them to me if you have a problem. I don’t want him leaving the building unless he has an escort. Sending him to work could be a mistake and we can’t take that chance.” 

“He’s not going to like that.”

“And I don’t give a damn. We want him alive, not happy or comfortable.” Royce moved towards the door. “If he has to leave for any reason, Mickey, he’s with you. Marlowe, I want this plan finished and on my desk by lunch.”

“Yes, sir.” They answered at the same time but he was long gone by then. 

Mickey relaxed, sagging against the wall. “This shit better work.”

“It’ll work, trust me,” Marlowe assured him, squeezed his and left.

“It better.” Mickey said to himself, then left the empty room and opened the door to the interrogation room and Ian sat up, looking hopeful. “Come on, you’re done.”

Ian stood and grabbed his empty coffee cup. “Thank God.”

“It wasn’t as bad as it could have been.” Mickey laughed. They walked back down the hallway and Ian pointed to the breakroom. He got more coffee and two donuts before they kept walking. They made it back to the bunks and Ian sat down to eat while he stood. “Well, I have some good news and some bad news. Which do you want first?”

Ian groaned around the mouthful of donut. “Whichever.”

“Well, the good news is they; my boss and my partner, believe you about Robertson. We don’t know why he lied about the relationship but it’s clear that it never happened.”

“Were you worried?”

“Yes and no.” Mickey answered honestly. “He told me you two were having sex just after you kissed me and it kinda confused me, I think is the word I’m looking for.” He chuckled, feeling his blush heat and knew Ian could see it. “I thought maybe you just didn’t want to tell me but I wasn’t sure why you kissed me either. I chalked it up to you being grateful.”

“Well, I was grateful, yes. But that’s not why I kissed you. I did it because I wanted to.” Ian licked his fingers free of all the sugar, and took a drink of his coffee. “If I’d been in any sexual relationship, I wouldn’t have kissed you. I don’t do that.” 

Mickey smiled. “Yeah, I know you wouldn’t. That’s why I was confused. But that’s not all.” Ian’s eyebrows rose in question and suddenly he couldn’t get the words out. 

“What is it?”

“I just—“ he sighed. “I was jealous.” Mickey admitted softly. “I don’t think he was trying to brag or anything, but I definitely didn’t like the idea of you being with him, then coming onto me like that. I didn’t know what to think.”

Ian stood, coming closer. “But that didn’t stop us from being together. Why?”

Malcolm, that’s why. 

Without knowing what to say, Mickey shook his head. Ian was close now, he could feel his body, just being close made him want more. “We were drinking, things got heated, and before we could talk, you were on me.” He shivered at the memory of Malcolm against his back. “It just happened.”

“Do you regret it happening?” Ian asked, he twiddled his fingers, nervous about the answer. “Because I don’t normally do that, the coming onto guys thing. I haven’t been with anyone in a long time.”

“I regret that you don’t remember.” Mickey breathed deep to help settle the nerves fluttering his stomach but he could smell Ian this close and his stomach tightened, craving more. “I don’t like to mix business with pleasure, but no, I wanted it.”

“I’d give anything to remember.” Ian took another step and when Mickey wouldn’t meet his eyes, he tilted his head, trying to find them. “No matter what I do, it won’t come to me. Not a single moment together.”

Mickey swallowed thickly. He remembered all of it.

“When I slept, I could almost remember a few things.” Ian clenched his jaw. “How you smelled, how you tasted but it’s not clear.”

“We shouldn’t be talking about this.” Mickey backed up a step but Ian followed. He was already worked up and this time they weren’t alone, the entire precinct was beyond the doors. “It’s okay if you don’t remember. I’m not mad or anything.”

“I need to remember.” Ian insisted, his voice deepening. “Every time my eyes close, I smell you in my nose, when I swallow I taste you and it’s driving me crazy because I can’t remember the details. Like it’s not me, like I’m seeing someone else’s memories.”

“Ian.” Mickey begged, his voice soft, gasping. He was hard and flushed from head to toe and it would only get worse the more he talked about it. Ian took another step, forcing him to step back again and his back was against the wall, just like in the alleyway; he was trapped. “Please.”

Ian took that final step and their bodies lined up, he could feel Mickey’s heart beating fast. “Is that how you said my name when you came? All sexy like that.”

“God.” Mickey couldn’t hide the tremble of his shoulders. “I know you don’t remember, but I do. I remember every single detail and I can’t do this…” his hands hung useless at his sides, eager to feel Ian’s skin for the first time. “Ian…”

“Oh yeah, I bet you said it just like that.” 

Ian was leaning down, his lips as perfect as they’d been in that alley, headed right for his own and just like with Malcolm, he couldn’t and didn’t stop him. He licked his lips just in time for Ian’s to press softly against his own. He was confident as hell right now, cocky even, but he wasn’t pushy. He didn’t jam his tongue right into his mouth, but worshiped his lips, his hand on the side of his face, so soft yet eager for more. Nothing like Malcolm and Mickey fucking loved everything about it. Ian wanted it bad, but he took his time, he coaxed him into a deeper kiss instead of forcing him to comply. When Ian’s fingers gripped his hair, Mickey tilted his head, actively deepening the kiss and he was the one to swirl his tongue inside Ian first, telling him he wanted it without question. Ian gave a deep groan because of it and within seconds Mickey could feel his tongue playing with his own. It was slow and sensual and exhilarating, his blood was boiling under the surface, his body tight with tension, eager to be released. 

It seemed to go on forever before Mickey finally had to break for Ian. He put his hand on Ian’s cheek, squeezing just enough to get him to release his bottom lip. Their heads knocked together softly, each panting, eyes undressing the other. As good as it was, as amazing, it had to stop. “Ian…”

“Don’t tell me you can’t.” Ian interjected, his voice only a whisper. “No one has to know, I promise. You want it just as much as I do.”

Ian’s body was fully against him and Mickey could feel him hard and pressed into his belly. His own body pulsed, clenching, remembering just how amazing Ian had felt inside him. “We can’t, especially not here.”

“I need you, Mickey. I can’t remember, I need it again.” Ian linked his hand with Mickey’s and slid it down, between their bodies, they made the same sound. “Tell me what I did to you, tell me how it felt. Recreate it with me.”

“Fuck.” Mickey barely flexed his hand in Ian’s and felt his cock against his wrist. Long and thick, powerful. He needed to leave before he gave in and let Ian do whatever he wanted to him. “I can’t.” He mumbled, feeling close to tears as he moved away from Ian’s body and didn’t look back as he left. He ran for the nearest private place; the bathroom and ducked into one of the open stalls. He didn’t lock it, but left it open a little and leaned against the side wall. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!!”

Everything was so confusing. Not the case anymore, but what he wanted, what he was feeling. It was a chaotic mess, scrambled so bad he could figure out what was up, what was down, what was right and wrong and what was good. He didn’t want to admit to wanting Malcolm, but he did. His body reacted in a truly physical way, but aside from sex, he felt nothing. He despised what Malcolm had done, what he believed and helping Ian all those years ago couldn’t right the wrongs. With Ian, god, he wanted everything about him, the tempting offer for sex with him, not Malcolm, not the harsh, impersonal sex but passionate, satisfying, meaningful sex with Ian. Where they could lose all their clothes and fall to the bed kissing, then exploring each other, every inch of skin kissed or sucked or bitten. He wanted a chance to touch him, to taste him and do all those things he didn’t with Malcolm and he wanted Ian to get the same thing with his body. But it was more than sex, Ian was good. He was so fucking good it was almost unreal. He had a good heart, a good, kind soul. He was just beautiful all the way around. Mickey could see himself with Ian, long term, not just a hookup in dirty alleyways or against hotel room doors. 

The question was, could he have one without the other? Could he be with Ian in every way his body demanded, emotionally, sexually—but not be with Malcolm as well? It would never just be him and Ian, that other side, that darker side would always be there, even if Ian got help for his disorder, there was always a chance Malcolm would come back. If he couldn’t deal with it, would he be able to simply walk away from Ian when this case was over? He wasn’t so sure he could. 

The bathroom door opened and Mickey made sure to keep quiet. Whoever it was would use the urinal, wash their hands and leave under five minutes. He didn’t want to draw any unwanted attention. He needed to be alone. He could hear the door close, then footsteps but they were coming closer, not further away and the urinals were on the opposite end of the bathroom. That person stopped right in front of his door. Nothing happened for a moment, then his hand gripped the top of the opened door. Not opening it, but waiting. 

It was Ian. 

“Tell me to go away and I will.” Ian said softly. “Tell me you don’t want me.”

Mickey opened his mouth to do just that, but he couldn’t. All that came out was a soft whimpering noise he couldn’t even be embarrassed about. When it was clear he wouldn’t or couldn’t say a single word, Ian added a little pressure and the door opened and he came into view, looking as amazing and soft as he always did. Green eyes heated, but curious, patiently waiting. 

“I don’t know what to do.” Mickey said finally and was embarrassed to say that was his voice. He sounded small, weak, afraid. 

Ian moved all the way inside and shut the door, but didn’t lock it. He didn’t reach out, but there was only so much room, they were already face to face. “Just be honest with me. You want me.”

Mickey looked into those mesmerizing eyes and he couldn’t lie. “I want you.” He reached out, not Ian, and slid his palm softly against his cheek, green eyes closed for a moment, opening and somehow they were darker, as if in a shadow—Malcolm. He was in that look. “I just don’t know what to do about it.”

“You do what you want.” Ian leaned into his touch, finding absolute peace, comfort. “Just be with me.”

Mickey knew...he couldn’t have one without the other. It was an all or nothing deal and Ian was too amazing to pass up. Knowing he willingly accepted Malcolm just now, Mickey led Ian down, lifted up and pressed their heads together. They didn’t kiss, they didn’t talk, or smile, their eyes held. Forever they held. Ian’s hands circled his waist, holding him back, waiting...just waiting. No pressure for more in that moment. 

Ian was worth dealing with Malcolm, Mickey knew that from the start, he just now realized what it meant.


	10. Intensity

Beneath the Surface  
Chapter 10– Intensity 

For two days, Marlowe had been planning and preparing for her plan. She went over it over five times with Royce, just to make sure there wouldn’t be an issue. When he approved it the final time, she started putting into place. The first step was getting someone that looked like Ian, which was an officer from another precinct. Not so much the finer details like all those freckles on his cheeks or the exact shade of his hair, but someone with the same build and body type. Six foot, wide shoulders, but with a slender build. Ian gave up some of his own clothing just in case their “perp” was interested in the details. He even let them use his messenger bag to make it seem more authentic.

The second step was to discreetly alert the manager at Ian’s apartment. They had to clean over fifteen apartments and to do that, they needed permission and a damn good reason why. But it needed to be kept close to the chest, the less people knew, the better. Their cover had been easy enough to explain: as far as the residents knew, their apartments were being fumigated and needed at least 24 hours to air out before they could come back. They left, packing bags for each person, and somehow Royce managed to convince the local pest control company to loan them one of their vans to park at the managers building just in case, also to make it more believable. 

The third and final step, was access to Ian’s apartment. The most they could have inside was one officer, maybe two because the place wasn’t that big. For insurance reasons cameras were installed in all of the rooms and outside the doorway in the stairwell. Not the big bulky ones easy to post and scared away burglars, these ones were small, too small to see without a magnifying glass. They had a secure van around the corner to monitor the cameras, recording all of it. They had officers spread throughout the entire complex, in the treeline towards the back, in the opposite apartment of Ian’s, some hid in cars parked in the lot, a few inside the pest control van, and even one on the roof, ready to propel down at any given moment. Most of them were packing heat, with real bullets while others were using rubber ones, ones to stop him, not kill. 

Mickey hated to see it all go to waste. The money it took to put it together, all the overtime for the officers, the man hours they could spend on real perps, not one locked inside the mind of an innocent man. He tried to figure out a way to finally tell them; Marlowe and Royce, but he couldn’t without putting Ian at risk. Either he’d get locked up for something he had no control over, or worse, Malcolm would come out and ruin any chance of Ian getting off, possibly even hurting a few people in the process. Somewhere along the way, Ian had become more important to him than his work, than doing the right thing. If all they lost was a little taxpayer money and time...he could deal with that. 

During those two days, Ian had been anxious. He couldn’t go to work, he couldn’t go home, he couldn’t even go back to the hotel. He was forced to stay in the bunks, cooped up with nothing to do but wait. Mickey did his best to make it seem more homey, he brought in a TV set up, complete with a handful of cable channels and a DVD player with a stack of movies. He gave Ian the WiFi password only when he got his word not to post anything on social media...which Ian didn’t even have, as Mickey later found out. He brought him books and magazines and the computer off his own desk but there was only so much a person could take. Ian couldn’t even step outside for a little fresh air, Royce was too worried their “perp” could be watching and figure it all out. 

Lies...that’s why he hated them. 

Over those two days, when he wasn’t gathering all the evidence and writing up reports, Mickey was with Ian, keeping him company. He seemed less anxious when he was around, when he wasn’t alone. They played cards and watched awful movies and nearly emptied the vending machines while doing it. At night, Mickey stayed until Ian was asleep. Before he left, or before Royce kicked him out, he sat next to Ian and watched him for a moment. He watched him breathe, the gentle rise of his chest as he inhaled, he watched his eyes shift under his eyelids as he dreamt and wondered what he saw, or if Malcolm was trying to claw his way through when he was most vulnerable. Ian liked to whisper in his sleep, things Mickey couldn’t understand no matter how hard he listened. Whatever dreams Ian had, Mickey knew it was a mix between good and bad. The good ones had him moaning softly, his legs shifting like it was a really, really good dream. So good that Mickey expected one of Ian’s hands to wander south towards his jeans, but it never happened. The bad ones had Ian whimpering, slowly tossing his head from side to side as if he was trying to outrun whatever was in his mind. When those happened, Mickey hesitantly ran his hand into Ian’s hair, his nails barely scraping his scalp and he would settle almost instantly, giving a soft sigh of relief. 

Watching him sleep was soothing, calming. He wasn’t worried about Malcolm, about lying to Ian about literally everything aside from his feelings. It was easy to watch him, wondering what he was dreaming of, if it was a better place than where they were. If Ian was happy there. Mickey wanted to join him, he wanted to slip into his mind and figure out what Ian was thinking, or what Malcolm was planning. As impossible as that was, it had Mickey staying far longer than he meant to. He ran his hand into Ian’s hair again and again, sometimes he’d caress the side of his face, or run his thumb over Ian’s bottom lip. His lips would part, exhaling a breathless sound. 

Mickey was doing it again. He’d been laying in the bunk across from Ian so he could see him, unable to sleep with too much rattling around in his mind. Marlowe opened the door a crack and poked her head in. Mickey sat up, putting a finger to his lips to tell her to keep it down. He got up and walked to the door, making sure not to make a sound. 

“What’s up?” Mickey asked, hoping she didn’t catch him giving Ian those longing looks. 

“We’re ready. Got a car downstairs waiting for us right now.” 

Mickey looked past her and saw Royce commanding a group of officers dressed in plain clothes, their guns hidden behind their backs. “Alright. I’ll meet you down there. Need to check my gun.” He lied easily and she believed it. 

“We leave in five.”

“Got it.” 

The door closed again and Mickey locked it, then pulled the small curtain over the window that way no one could barge in again or peek inside. He walked back over to Ian and sat down on the edge of the bed. Ian was laying on his side facing him, one hand tucked under the pillow while the other lay flat on the sheets. He looked perfectly at ease and Mickey thought about not waking him up to let him know he was leaving, but he had to. 

“Ian?” Mickey whispered and ran his hand into Ian’s hair again. He leaned into it, nuzzling his palm. But when he didn’t wake, Mickey leaned down and put his nose on the side of Ian’s face, against his cheek and kissed him. 

“Mickey?” Ian asked, his voice groggy. 

Mickey pulled back with a smile but Ian’s hand came up and cupped the side of his face. “I didn’t want to wake you up, but I gotta go.” 

“Go where?” Ian sat up on one elbow, looking around. “Can I come?”

“No, you can’t.” Mickey smiled at that adorable look. “It’s time for the decoy. I gotta leave in five minutes.” That sobered Ian up quickly and he sat up, wide awake. “Wanted to let you know.”

“Yeah, thanks for that. Would have hated to know when it was all over. Is it gonna be okay?”

“Yeah, it’ll be fine. I won’t be on the front lines this time. I’m sure he knows who I am by now, my partner too. I’ll be there just in case something goes wrong.” Mickey wasn’t lying, per say, but it wasn’t the whole truth. Yeah, he wouldn’t be in danger but there wouldn’t be any danger with Ian at the precinct. “To be honest I’m not too hopeful about this plan working but it’s the best we have right now.”

“I really hope it works. I want this shit to be over with, I wanna go home and be able to go to work.” Ian wiggled out from under the blanket and swung his feet to the ground, now sitting shoulder to shoulder with him. “Promise you’ll be okay?”

Mickey smiled and bumped against his arm. “I’ll be fine, I promise.” 

“I don’t suppose I can kiss you before you go.” Ian smiled shyly, not asking but asking at the same time. “Ya know, for luck.”

“I locked the door for a reason.” Mickey admitted with a blush and Ian’s smile widened. “Just so someone didn’t walk in.”

“You should have woken me up before now then. Five minutes isn’t a lot of time.”

“It’s not supposed to be.” Mickey said when Ian gripped his chin and turned him. “I’ll see you when I get back.”

Ian leaned down, licking across his lips quickly. “Yeah, you will.”

They moved together as one, both tilting their heads the opposite way as their lips connected. And just because they didn’t have a lot of time to ease into it, Mickey eagerly swirled his tongue inside Ian’s mouth, playing with his own as Ian groaned into his mouth. It must have come as a surprise but he couldn’t wait to get into it. Ian didn’t seem to mind and within minutes, he was gripping Ian’s shirt, pulling him closer, wanting so bad to slide into his lap. 

“Fuck.” Mickey broke the kiss and groaned. “I gotta go.”

“Hurry, then come back so we can finish this.” Ian kissed him again. He bit his bottom lip as he pulled back. “Be careful.”

“I will.” Mickey forced himself to stand up and walk away. He met up with Marlowe by the car and climbed into the passenger seat without her asking. They followed the long line of cars, none of them standard issue cruisers and drove all the way across town to Ian’s apartment.

It was dead quiet in the middle of the evening with almost half the residents gone. It wasn’t pitch black yet, but it was getting there. It seemed a little eerie to him; it was too quiet, the wind sounded like it was on surround sound as it blew through the trees and scattered dried leaves across the ground.The cars parked in various spaces, most had tinted windows so no one could see inside. Marlowe parked right in front of Ian’s stairwell so he’d have a good look at whoever came up after their undercover officer. If there was a place big enough to hide in the stairwell he would have, but he’d have to settle for the car until it was go time. 

“I have a bad feeling about this.” Mickey said quietly. They were hunched down in their seats, the radio off and the windows up. “He’s not gonna show.”

“Don’t be so negative, Mickey. We need this to work if we are going to catch him.” 

They didn’t talk for awhile, not until the earbuds in their ears cackled with activity. Letting them know their undercover was walking into the complex. Mickey stayed hunkered down, but watched him walk closer and he’d be damned if it didn’t look just like Ian. Not just the clothes, but the overall appearance was staggering. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say it was Ian. The undercover walked at a slow but steady pace, he checked the mailboxes in the center of the complex like Ian explained he did every night after work. Whatever was in there got tucked under one arm and he made his way to the stairwell. 

“Anything?” Mickey whispered, asking any available officer who might see someone walking up on him. 

“Possible suspect, coming around the west corner of the complex.” An officer replied seconds later, the radio cackled again. “Got him?”

They moved at once, shifting in their seats to look west and he’d be damned if there wasn’t a guy walking up. He was tall, not as tall as Ian, but almost six foot. He wore a dark hoodie, which in the shadows concealed his entire face. He wore dark jeans and black sneakers, it didn’t look like he had a weapon, although it was hard to tell one way or another.

“Yeah, got him.” Mickey palmed his weapon, confused as to who it was and why it was even happening. Malcolm was safe inside Ian at the precinct, far from harm. Wasn’t he? “Williams, be advised, got a male suspect following you. Keep a steady pace, stay calm. We got you covered.” Mickey spoke to the undercover directly and got a click in return, meaning he didn’t want to risk saying anything but the order was understood. 

“I knew he’d show.” Marlowe said eagerly. “We’ve had Gallagher for three days and this guy is desperate for contact.”

She wasn’t wrong, but the entire thing was bad, something was wrong. There shouldn’t be anybody following their officer. The whole thing was supposed to be a bust. 

“As soon as Williams is safely inside, we move.” Said the voice over the intercom in their earpieces and Mickey knew it was Royce. “We want him in custody, not in a body bag. But shoot to kill if you’re forced. Don’t risk it.”

When the order was clear, and Williams was still a few minutes walk from the door, Mickey took the ear piece out and let it dangle around his neck, then dug into his slacks and called the first number on his contact list. 

“Mickey, what is it?” Marlowe asked, confused.

Mickey held up one finger as the call was answered. “Hey, Jack, it’s Mickey, can you check on Ian Gallagher for me? He should be in the bunks.” He waited while Jack confirmed what he hoped to be true. Marlowe was still looking at him, eyes narrowed. “He still there?”

“What’s going on?” Marlowe asked again, firmly this time. 

“Just want to make sure.” Mickey said after he moved the phone away from his mouth. He held his breath until Jack came back to him. “He is, you’re sure?” Jack confirmed that Ian was still in the bunks but he didn’t know why he couldn’t believe that. “Put him on real quick.” Moments later, Ian’s voice sounded in his ear. 

“Hey, everything okay?” Ian asked.

Mickey laughed. “Yeah, all good here. Just wanted to make sure you were still there.”

“I told you I wouldn’t leave.”

“I know.” Mickey had to watch what he said since Marlowe was still waiting for an answer. “Thank you. Let me talk to the officer real quick.”

“Please be careful.”

“I will.” Mickey waited as the phone was handed back over. “Hey, thanks man. Just don’t let him leave the precinct, alright? I’ll be back later.” He ended the call and slipped the phone back into his slacks. “Sorry, just wanted to make sure Ian wouldn’t try and deal with this himself.” He lied again.

That wasn’t it. Mickey really believed that Malcolm had resurfaced once again and that’s who had been following their undercover. It couldn’t be with Ian at the precinct. It was someone else entirely and he was still confused. 

“Yeah, Royce told them not to let him leave. They want him safe while we do this.”

Mickey relaxed back into the seat and checked his weapon. He put the earpiece back into place just as Williams passed their car. “All units be advised, Williams is by our car, southwest of the entrance headed for the stairwell.”

“If he advances on the door, we move in.” Marlowe said quietly.

“Copy that.” Mickey replied but kept his eyes on the man approaching the back of their car. He had a really bad feeling now. “If he makes a move for a gun, I’m shooting through the windshield.” He warned and glanced over to see Marlowe putting an earplug in the ear without an earpiece, she already knew. “Suspect approaching the car.”

“Hold your positions.” Royce responded instantly. “This could be a resident who didn’t get the memo.”

“Doubt it.” Mickey replied under his breath and Marlowe smiled. “I don’t know who the fuck that is but he’s not getting near the door.” 

Williams, their undercover was already up the second flight of stairs. Mickey held his gun steady, pointed right at the windshield as Marlowe quietly opened her door and slipped out, then closed it and moved towards the side of the brick building. Their suspect was on the first flight of stairs, moving quickly but didn’t make a sound. 

“Williams is inside.” Royce confirmed. “All units within ten feet of the apartment, move in. Keep it quiet.”

Mickey opened his door and slipped behind Marlowe. Their suspect couldn’t see the officers climbing out of the other cars, or the ones coming from around the side of the building. He and Marlowe took the stairs quickly, silently, guns at the ready. His heart was in his throat, his blood pumping adrenaline and fear straight into his heart. There were a million things wrong with this but he couldn’t talk about it and didn’t have time. Whatever was about to happen, would happen and it didn’t look good.

“Suspect near the door!”

Within seconds, the door opened again, their suspect obviously didn’t notice how the door had been left open for him. Mickey took the last step up and used his entire body to shove the suspect forward. Marlowe came in beside him, gun aimed at the guys back. He faced away from them, and they couldn’t see his hands.

“Chicago PD, hands where we can see them!” Mickey ordered and felt the rumble of the stairs as dozens of boots stomped their way up. Two officers came out of Ian’s bedroom, guns ready but aimed down to the floor. “Hands up!” He repeated when the suspect didn’t comply. 

The guy just stood there, cloaked in black, uncompliant. Mickey slowly moved forward, taking it step by step. He was afraid to see the man's face, but afraid to keep it a secret. It wasn’t Ian, that much he knew, so it wasn’t Malcolm either. Maybe this was a burglary gone wrong, wrong time wrong place, or maybe this guy was somehow connected to Malcolm.  
Either way, he didn’t see it ending well. 

Mickey moved forward a step at a time, watching the guys arms, making sure he didn’t make a move. Marlowe was behind him, not wanting to put him in the line of fire, but she still had his back. The closer he got, the more afraid he was. He thought it would be an easy arrest when the guy didn’t move, until he took that last step and one arm moved, out of his sight, possibly grabbing for a weapon. By that point, Mickey was right behind him, the gun pointed to the back of his head. 

“Don’t do it.” Mickey warned, his jaw clenched tightly. “Let me see your hands and we all walk away from this.”

The guy's hands didn’t move one way or another. It created an immense amount of tension in the room, putting him and the other officers on edge. 

“Hands!” Marlowe yelled, not giving him an option. 

The guy finally moved, lifting one hand to where they could see that it was empty, the other, moved down, and Mickey knew he was going for it before the guy completed the action. Then it all happened at once, one of the other officers tensed, firing without meaning to. The bullet went into the suspects shoulder, all the way through, then knocked him back a step as it lodged into his bullet proof vest. The suspect went down, dropping to his knees in an instant as the officers advanced on him. Mickey didn’t go down, but he put his weapon away and put a hand to his left shoulder, making sure the bullet didn’t go through his vest. Marlowe was there within seconds, peeling it back to see a large red mark that would soon turn into a bruise. 

“Stand down!!” Marlowe yelled at them, forcing them to look up from their suspect and towards her. “You don’t shoot when you have officers in the line of fire!”

“He was going for his gun.”

“I don’t give a shit!” She yelled again. “Mickey had him!”

Mickey put his hand on her shoulder, stopping her next round of shouting. “I’m fine, it hit my vest. Just detain him and call for an ambulance.”

“Already on the way!” Royce said into the earpiece. “All units, the suspect is in custody, stand down.”

Marlowe moved away at his insistence and cuffed their suspect behind his back and laid him on his side. His shoulder had a hole through it from the bullet, it formed a puddle under him until one of the officers grabbed a hand towel from the kitchen and tossed it to her to apply pressure. He let them handle it and sat down against one of the walls. He holstered his weapon and kept out of the way while the room was swarmed with officers.

While he waited, he used his good arm to dig into his slacks and called Ian’s phone directly. He half expected it to ring within the room, confirming what he knew couldn’t be true, but it didn’t and Ian answered within moments, clearly not in the apartment. 

“Hey, you okay?”

Mickey didn’t tell Ian he was shot, even if he was wearing a vest. He just sighed heavily into the phone, consumed with absolute relief. “Yeah, I’m good. I’ll be there soon, okay?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Mickey chuckled, earning a few odd stares thrown his way. “Wait for me?”

“Yeah, absolutely.”

Mickey ended the call and didn’t fight the EMT’s when they came at him. He directed one to their suspect while another worked on getting his vest all the way off, then cut his shirt in two and poked and prodded his very sore chest. His attention was on their suspect, watching as someone finally pulled that hoodie off his head and showed him his face. He looked so...ordinary. One of those guys you wouldn’t give two glances at down the street. Brown hair, brown eyes, average height, average build. Nothing remarkable about him whatsoever and what was even more concerning was, they hadn’t come across a guy like this during the entirety of their investigation. 

“I’m fine.” Mickey shrugged the EMT off when he tried to bind his chest with an ace bandage. “Nothing to worry about. Help me up.” He offered him his hand, not giving the guy a choice and was lifted instantly to his feet. He patted the guy on the shoulder then moved forward. “Who is that?”

Marlowe shook her head and came up beside him. “He has no wallet and we haven’t seen him before, that’s for sure. Maybe he picked the wrong apartment to break into.”

Mickey shook his head and walked around the EMT to get a better view of the guys face. Brown eyes met him and he saw no recognition in them. Whenever this guy was, he didn’t know him or Marlowe, he probably didn’t even know Ian. So what the fuck was he doing in his apartment? 

“He alright?” Mickey asked the EMT. 

“Through and through to the left shoulder, we stopped the blessing but he’s gonna need stitches. He’ll be alright.”

“Good, get him outta here.” He ordered the officers behind him and stepped aside to let him past. They each grabbed an arm and lifted him onto his feet. “Don’t let him out of your sight. Bring him straight to the precinct and call the hospital, they treat him there.”

“Sir, that’s not protocol.”

Mickey turned and lifted his eyebrows. “I don’t give a shit about protocol. We have three bodies. He goes to the precinct.” They didn’t question him after that and the entire group of officers helped escort him out of the building. “Fuck.”

“You okay?” Marlowe asked, by his side yet again. 

“Yeah, just gonna be sore.” Mickey picked up his vest and they walked towards the door. “Let’s lock this place down and get the hell back.”

“Royce is gonna want you and him at the hospital.”

Mickey took the stairs two at a time, just in time to see the line of police cruisers leave the complex. “And I don’t care. I’m going back to the precinct and as soon as he’s cleared by the doctor, we figure out who the fuck he is.”

**

Mickey watched their suspect get carted into the precinct by at least ten different officers. He was still cuffed and bleeding, being led inside with hkm and Marlowe trailing behind them. During the drive, the adrenaline started to fade and his shoulder hurt like a son of a bitch. Getting shot would hurt less than muscle damage like that. The bruise would probably cover half his chest if he was lucky. 

“You really should have gone to the hospital.” 

“I’m fine.” Mickey pushed her hands away when she tried to help him out of the car. She took the hint and stepped aside to give him room. “It’s a bruise and unless you’re bleeding out in the waiting room, they don’t give you pain meds. Which would be the only reason I’d stay.” He slammed the door and they walked side by side after the groups of officers. “I just wanna get him squared away and go the fuck home.”

“It won’t be that simple and you know it. I’m sure he already asked for a lawyer and we can’t do shit until tomorrow morning.”

“Way to be a downer, fuck.” Mickey rolled his eyes and held the door open for her to go inside first. “We need to fingerprint him ASAP because that shit always takes forever.” 

The moment they stepped inside, it was chaos. Officers were out of their desks, trying to help, doing anything to help. Their suspect was being carted to a holding cell to wait for a doctor, and he still hadn’t said a Goddamn word. Not one. Mickey tossed his vest onto his desk and followed them down to the holding area. “Fingerprint him, then call whatever lawyer he wants, we need to get this shit taken care of.”

“Yes, sir.” Came an instant reply. 

The suspect had been watching him closely. Everytime Mickey looked at him, he was always right there watching. He didn’t smirk as most of their detainees did , he wasn’t smug at all. He just looked at him. Mickey wondered what the guy was thinking, what made him decide to follow “Ian” into his apartment on that specific night. Aside from their department and the lady at the manager's desk for Ian’s apartment building, no one else knew about their undercover operation. 

“Milkovich, please tell me why the hell you’re not at the hospital.”

The captain's voice was like nails on a chalkboard. He came barreling out of his office, ready to fight him on it. “Because that’s one more bill that I don’t need and I’m fine. I’ve taken a billet and patched it up myself. It hit my vest this time. I’m not going for a fucking bruise.”

“It’s protocol to go, especially in an officer involved shooting. You’re going.” 

Mickey met him eye to eye, even if he had to look up. He wasn’t giving in. “It’s been a long fucking night and I’m not going to sit in the hospital for six hours over a bruise. I’ll see my doctor when it’s daylight outside.”

Royce clenched his jaw. “Fine, but you go ASAP. I don’t need IA on my ass because you’re being a stubborn bastard.” 

“First thing.” Mickey agreed and couldn’t stop smiling. For once he won that fight, he didn’t usually. “When can I talk to our suspect?”

“Well, he’s lawyered up and it’s the middle of the damn night and we have no idea who the hell he is. First we get him patched up, run his prints, then go from there. Probably not for an hour or so.”

“I got time to run home and get cleaned up?” Mickey motioned to his cut t-shirt, he was flashing the entire room. “Those dicks always ruin my good shirts.”

Royce laughed. “Fine. By the time you get back he should be ready but don’t dick around. This felt too easy for it to be our guy and I have a bad feeling.”

“Yeah, I got one too.” He chose to ignore Marlowe when she snorted and walked away. “I’m taking Gallagher with me. Gonna let him shower and change and get some food before we come back.”

“He doesn’t go home until we figure out who this guy is.”

“Understood.” 

Royce walked away and he was able to relax a little. He was surprised he didn’t get shut down about taking Ian but he hadn’t been told no. It was better than nothing and he would happily take it. By the time he tossed his vest onto his desk, Ian was all but running out of the bunks. Their eyes met and Ian’s widened. Before Mickey knew what what happening, Ian was coming at him, hugging him in the middle of the bullpen. Those long arms wrapped around his shoulders and Ian tucked his face into his neck and squeezed.

“I heard what happened on the police scanner.” Ian explained when he didn’t let go.

Mickey couldn’t help but smile and let those butterflies take over, flapping wildly in his stomach. He embraced Ian, arms wrapped around his waist and closed his eyes as that feeling of warmth and happiness spread. He didn’t care if people were watching or what it might look like and no doubt Marlowe had something to say about why they were touching like that. He’d been a nervous wreck all night, confused about what happened and worried Malcolm had something to do with the outcome. It was nice to see that Ian was still there and worried enough to hug him without giving it a second thought. 

“I’m fine.” Mickey said into Ian’s chest. He breathed deeply, inhaling whatever smell was coming off his shirt. Something warm and spicy. “You shouldn’t be listening to that in the first place.”

“You already knew I would.” Ian squeezed a moment before he pulled back and gripped both sides of Mickey’s shirt. “Fuck, that looks bad.”

Ian had a full view of his chest now, openly showing whoever might be watching. It had his face beating quickly and he wanted to jerk away or go somewhere private but he didn’t. He let Ian look at him. “It’s just a bruise. I had my vest on.”

“I’d hate to see what it looks like without a vest.”

“Yeah, you would.” Mickey put his hands over Ian’s, knowing no one could see it, then closed his shirt as much as he could. “I have orders to get checked out by my doctor tomorrow and they’re gonna say I was lucky and it’s just a bruise and it’ll be sore, but since it was friendly fire, it needs to be documented for IA.”

“IA?”

“Internal affairs.” Mickey clarified. “They’re gonna have to look into it and see whose fault it was and all that shit. It was an accident but they hardly believe us.”

“How’d you manage to get shot anyway?” 

“The suspect went for his gun and the officer on the other side of him fired too quickly.” Mickey watched the horror blossom on Ian’s face. He was truly shocked. “The bullet hit him in the shoulder but went all the way through and tagged my vest. It happens.”

“Jesus.” Ian whispered and ran the tips of his fingers over the bruise blooming on Mickey’s left pectoral muscle and his shoulder. “It’s already so dark.”

Mickey tried to remain calm, even when Ian’s touch although soft and gentle, felt like fire and it was all headed south. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

“Mick…”

“We got someone, not sure if it’s our guy, but it was worth it.” Mickey said vaguely, wondering if Malcolm was listening and no doubt proud of himself. “Any chance you wanna take a look at this guy and see if you know him?”

“Yeah, if it helps.” Ian took his hands back and stuffed them in the pockets of his jeans. 

They headed for the hallway, walking side by side and Mickey could feel Ian’s eyes on him. They passed the door for the bunks and the interrogation room and headed for the holding cells. Mickey scanned the cells until he saw their guy, who was currently getting patched up. An EMT was inside, working fast to get the bleeding to stop. 

“Is that him?” Ian asked, squinting until they got closer.

“Mmm hmm.” Mickey stood a little in front of him, like he was blocking him from the suspect for whatever reason. “Does he look familiar?”

“I’m not sure.” Ian moved closer, only to be stopped by Mickey’s hand on his arm. “I have a feeling I know him but the image in my mind is different.”

“Seen him where? Work, or around your apartment complex?” 

“No, before that.” Ian stared hard, willing the image to come to him and when it did, he took a step back. “Are you sure this is him?”

“This is the guy who followed our decoy into your place and he did have a gun.” Mickey could almost feel Ian shaking beside him. “What is it?”

“He looks like a kid I knew at the group home I was at before the Moore’s adopted me.”

“Ian, you were like seven years old. How can you be sure it’s him?”

“I can’t.” Ian rubbed his eyes and looked again. “It might not even be him, but that’s all that comes to mind when I look at him. He used to pick on me all the time.”

What were the odds that someone from Ian’s past would be here now? It seemed astronomical. He knew it wasn’t a coincidence, it was Malcolm. Somehow, some way, he talked a guy from Ian’s childhood, someone he was linked with, into taking the fall for three murders. 

“Do you remember his name?” 

“Robin, I think.” Ian rubbed his head, easing the pain of an oncoming headache. “Robin Knight.”

Mickey had his phone to his ear in an instant, but noticed Ian acting strange again. He was pressing on his temples, squinting up at the harsh lights above. Shit, Ian was getting a headache. That could only mean he was about to have another one on one with Malcolm, which he needed for some info on what the hell was going on, but that meant Ian left and he didn’t want that. 

“Hey Jerry, it’s Mickey. Can you run the name Robin Knight for me? It’s a possible ID for our suspect. Yeah, thanks. Just let me know if anything comes up.” Mickey hung up the phone and put a hand to Ian’s back and led him away from the cells. “You alright?”

“No, my head is fucking pounding.” Ian bent over a little, head in his hands. “It feels like someone clawing inside my head.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong. 

“Come on, let’s get you outta here.” Mickey ushered Ian back down the hallway, past the bullpen and outside into the dark before he doubled over, groaning in pain. “I gotcha, Ian. It’s okay.”

Ian grabbed Mickey’s forearm and squeezed. “It hurts.”

“I know.” Mickey pulled him closer, holding him as Ian slowly, painfully left and Malcolm started to emerge. It seemed to take forever and seconds at the same time. The groaning stopped, Ian wasn’t rubbing his face anymore. He stood up, giving him that smirk that was both arousing and fearsome at the same time. “Why are you here?”

Malcolm laughed and pressed his body against Mickey’s. “You really should be nicer to me, detective. Didn’t you miss me?”

“No,” Mickey lied, more to himself than Malcolm. He put both hands on his chest and shoved him away. “I like having Ian around.”

“I see you two are getting closer, how interesting.” Malcolm spread Mickey’s shirt open. “Damn, he got you good.”

“Who is that guy and why the fuck was he even there?” Mickey said, cutting right to the chase. He was too tired for games and wanted Ian back. “You can’t pin this shit on someone else.”

“Yes, I can actually. Knight is a piece of work. He used to bother Ian in that group home. Get in trouble and blame it on him. Not to mention he’s already a murderer and a rapist. He deserves to go to jail.”

“So do you.”

Malcolm smiled. “Touché, but if I go, Ian goes.”

Mickey turned away and lit the cigarette he had tucked behind his ear. He needed a drink or half a dozen. “You gotta know this won’t work. You can’t just pick a guy and think the events will line up. He has to be at both crime scenes.”

“He was. He bounces between Chicago and Joliet, dealing drugs, mugging people, whatever crime you can think of, he’s done it.” Malcolm snatched the cigarette and winked when Mickey growled at him. “You said this case needed to be over with, right? So Ian can get back to his life, well, I fixed it.”

“You could have warned me!” Mickey pushed him back again when he tried to come closer. “I was there thinking it would be a night wasted and then some punk rolls up and puts my undercover in jeopardy.”

“You shove me again and you’ll be on your knees in that alley while you apologize.” Malcolm warned with a deep grumble. “Aside from his showing up tonight and being in the same general area of the crime scenes, he can’t be tied to them. But no one can. I made sure of that. Your captain will get a full confession from Knight and close the case before the end of tomorrow. Ian will be free and clear to go home and I’ll be good.”

“Why the fuck would he confess to three murders?”  
Mickey asked, ignoring his comment about the apology and his body's reaction to it. “What do you have on him?” 

“I have enough, trust me.” Malcolm laughed, blowing smoke out into the cold air. “He fears death more than incarceration.”

“You threatened to kill him?” 

“Maybe.” 

Mickey rubbed over his face, thinking about slapping himself just to make sure all this shit was real but decided against it. Only his life would be this fucking weird. Malcolm got them all into this mess and somehow got them all out of it without Ian going to jail. If this guy deserved it, if he was what Malcolm said he was, Mickey might be okay with letting him take the fall. Just as long as Ian was safe. And even then, he knew he’d feel guilty for a long time after. 

“Just let him take the fall for it, or he dies and I know you don’t want to deal with another body. Your captain will connect the dots and be satisfied with how it turns out.”

“Don’t count on it going the way you assume it will. They aren’t as dumb as you think they are.”

“There is always a twist to a really good story. I can’t wait to find out what it is.”

Mickey shook his head. “Can I have Ian back now?”

“What, don’t you like me?” Malcolm teased, walking up to him again. “I know you like the things I do to you.”

“No, I don’t.”

“What did I say about lying? We both know the truth, you just can’t admit you want me too.”

Mickey turned and headed for his car and knew Malcolm was following. He got in and started it, letting it heat up. The passenger door opened and Malcolm sat beside him, smiling like the bastard he was. “I want Ian.”

“Well, to get one, you have to have both.”

“You’ve already had me, twice.” Mickey snapped and pulled away from the curb and towards his apartment. “I want Ian.”

“Was tonight going to be the big night?” Malcolm asked, turning in his seat. “Were you finally gonna give it up to him?”

“Jesus, you’re an asshole.” Mickey sped faster, blowing past another stop sign. “What Ian and I do or don’t do is none of your business.”

“Ian is always my business.”

Knowing he wouldn’t get Ian back without explaining, Mickey gave in, shifting uncomfortably in his seat and was thankful he didn’t have to look at him. “I wasn’t planning on it, but I wouldn’t tell him no again if shit went that way.”

“See, was that so hard?”

“Can I please have him back?” Mickey asked and pulled into his assigned parking space and turned off his lights, but not the car. He added the ‘please’ just to help Malcolm make the right decision. 

“Fine, I’ll give him back.”

Mickey exhaled in relief. 

“On one condition.”

“What?” Mickey asked, afraid to know the answer. 

“Admit you want me too.” 

“Excuse me?”

“Did I stutter?”

Mickey clenched his fists. “You want me to lie again?”

“The truth.”

Somehow, Malcolm would know if he lied or not. He had a knack for it. Did he want Malcolm? Or was he really lying to himself the entire time? He couldn’t deny that he enjoyed what they’d done together, both at the hotel and in the alley. He hated that he liked it, but he let it happen both times when he could have walked away. Okay, maybe not the first time but definitely in the alley. Did that make him a bad person for liking it? For wanting it like that? Did that count as him seeing someone else because Ian didn’t know about it? 

God, he was a confused mess.

“Tick tock.”

Mickey flipped him off and he only laughed in reply. “Fine, I admit it.” He didn’t actually say one way or another and Malcolm wasn’t impressed. Those red eyebrows lifted, waiting. “I liked it.”

“Oh, I already knew that. And that’s not what I asked.” 

There was no getting around it. He had to bite the bullet and say it. He wasn’t sure if he was lying this time or not though. “I want you, too.”

Malcolm leaned over the center console and slowly licked up the side of Mickey’s ear, letting out that rumbling growl trapped in his chest. “If you’re gonna be with Ian, you gotta be with me too. I’ll let him drive most of the time, but I still have needs, detective. And if you don’t or won’t meet them, I’ll have to come out and find someone else.”

Mickey shivered, his arms covered in goosebumps. “I already accepted the fact that it’s a package deal.”

“Tonight you get Ian, tomorrow you get me.” Malcolm bit his ear this time. “I can’t wait.”

Ian was gone from his side in a blur. Mickey looked back over and Ian looked like he was asleep. He was relaxed, eyes closed, breathing deeply as Malcolm went back to whatever hell was inside of Ian. It took a few minutes but eventually Ian started to shift, slowly waking up. Green eyes opened and he looked around, obviously confused to how they got from the precinct to his apartment without Ian realizing it. 

“Hey, you’re awake.” Mickey smiled and brushed back Ian’s hair when it fell into his eyes. “Feeling okay?”

“Mickey?” Ian asked, he sat up and looked around. “Where are we?”

“My place.” Mickey felt a spark of heat when Ian’s eyes widened. “You got another headache and I drove us here.”

Ian rubbed his head. “Sorry about that. It happens for no reason sometimes.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. 

“Thanks.” Ian smiled tiredly. “So, why are we here again?”

Mickey turned off the car and climbed out, waiting for Ian to join him seconds later. “Because I need a shower and a new shirt and I figured you probably do too. My captain cleared it but we can’t stay. Gotta head back when we’re done.”

“Guess that means I can’t go home yet.” Ian followed him up the slick stairs. 

“Not yet, but soon. If Knight is our guy, you’ll get back to normal and be able to go home.” Mickey took his keys out and unlocked his door but didn’t open it. “Don’t expect much in here. I barely have time to come home so I have no idea what conditions it’s in.”

Ian smiled. “I don’t mind a mess.”

Mickey opened the door and swept his arm out. Ian went first, then he stepped in and closed the door behind them and locked it. He was surprised to see it in decent condition. It was a little musty from the still air, but he managed to pick up all the clothes he had laying around, along with the pizza boxes and beer cans. It was just quiet, unlived in. 

Ian’s place was smaller, but at least it looked lived in. It was warm and alive and homey. Ian had art on his walls and a throw blanket across the back of the couch and it looked like he actually liked being at home. Mickey didn’t have those things. His walls were blank aside from the weapons rack bolted to the wall behind his bedroom door but that was hardly the same thing. His couch wasn’t knew but it might as well have been, he hadn’t broken in the leather yet. The tv was also older but he didn’t watch it. He had a PlayStation4 but only a handful of games, the same thing with movies. His kitchen was probably empty aside from things that didn’t go bad like coffee and protein bars. He ate at his desk most nights, and mornings. His bathroom was clean...ish. Maybe a towel on the floor and the seat still up like he was a heathen, but he was a man who lived at home, who did he need to be polite for? His bed was the main thing he used. King sized because he tossed and turned a lot and got sick of falling off one side or another. His sheets were soft and dark and heavenly after working for two days straight, even if he only slept a handful of hours at a time. 

It wasn’t much, not at all, but it was his. 

“Hmm, guess it’s not as bad as I thought.” Mickey tossed his keys and left Ian at the door while he moved into the kitchen. “You want a beer now?”

“You do owe me a drink.”

Mickey grabbed two icy cold beers and shut the door. He popped the bottle caps and handed one to Ian and kept one for himself. “Yes, I did.” He tipped the bottle, clinking it against Ian’s and took a drink while he turned on the light and they moved deeper into the apartment. “I might as well just live at the precinct. I haven’t been back here in awhile.”

“You work too much.” Ian stayed at his side, casually drinking his own beer. “Gotta come back sometime. Don’t you get any days off?”

“Yeah, but I usually work through them.” Mickey sat on the arm of the couch and he had to look up to meet Ian’s eyes. “I’m a workaholic.”

“I see that.”

Why was it suddenly so intense? Not like with Malcolm, that was totally different somehow. Mickey had been trying to get him to leave and let Ian come back and now that he was back, he didn’t know what he was supposed to be doing. The longer their eyes held, the more intense it became. And it just kept on growing. 

“I was worried about you.” Ian admitted softly and looked down. “That’s weird, hmm?”

“No, it’s not.” Mickey made the first move this time and took Ian’s hand in his own. Barely holding the tips of his fingers. “I’ve been worried about you this entire time.”

“That’s your job.”

“No, it’s not.” Mickey said firmly and Ian lost that sad look as quickly as it arrived. “You know it’s not the same. I’m just happy it’s almost over. That way you can have your life back.”

“What does that mean for us?” 

“I’m not sure.” Mickey admitted. He didn’t want to lie. “I won’t be so tied up working the case, and we might be able to see where this goes.”

“I hope we do.” 

Mickey stood, putting his head against Ian’s with a lift on his toes. “One step at a time, okay?”

Ian licked his lips. “Okay.” 

After waiting all that time, and dealing with Malcolm, Mickey took the kiss he needed the moment Ian hugged him at the precinct. It was slow and soft and lasted seconds but the peace it brought him felt unreal. Ian looked a little surprised but smiled moments later and kissed him the next time. 

“We don’t have much time.” Mickey whispered but didn’t pull back. He was enjoying the intimate setting. Them finally being alone. “You wanna shower first?”

“You should. I can wait.”

“You’re sure?”

Ian nodded. “Don’t rush either. Try and relax in there. Your shoulder is gonna be sore for awhile.”

“Yeah, I already feel it.” Mickey turned his head to look around for the remote and felt Ian turn his head the opposite way and lay a soft kiss against his neck. “You’re welcome to watch tv, or if you’re hungry you can see what’s in the kitchen.” There was another kiss, then another, higher up this time. “Hmm?”

“I’ll be here.” Ian pulled away, giving him room. 

Mickey backed away before he decided to pull Ian inside with him. He headed for his room for a change of clothes, which was really just the same outfit only clean and his shirt was dark blue instead of black. He tossed it all onto the bathroom counter and started the shower until steam filled the room. He stripped quickly, kicked it all off to the side and opened the glass shower door and stepped under the scaling spray. It did nothing to calm his body, he was still painfully hard. 

“Fuck.” Mickey hung his head down as water poured on it, falling around him like a waterfall. He had one arm braced against the wall just under the shower head and tried to relax. His mind was too full again to actually enjoy the shower. It helped his tense shoulders and washed away all the sweat and anxiety he felt the entire night, but it didn’t calm his mind. 

He stayed that way for a long time, unable to move, even to wash himself. He didn’t even open his eyes as the door slowly opened. When it quietly hit the back wall, then he looked over. Blinking quickly through the falling water, then the steamed up glass door and saw Ian standing there, watching him. He didn’t move for a long while, Ian either. Their eyes held as much as possible through all the steam and condensation on the door but he knew they were both watching each other. 

Mickey wanted Ian to join him but couldn’t say it and Ian being there at all said it for him, he was just waiting for an answer. And when he didn’t tell Ian to get out, when he only met that heated stare with one of his own, Ian used his leg to nudge the door back, then peeled off his jacket, then his shirt. He kicked off his shoes and Mickey held his breath as he wiggled out of his jeans and his boxers. He couldn’t see his body clearly, but he remembered certain things when he’d been with Malcolm and he was twice as ready as he had been. 

Just like at the precinct in the bathroom, Ian put his hand on top of the door and waited, giving him a chance to change his mind about it all. Mickey appreciated it, more than Ian knew. Ian gave him choices, Malcolm didn’t. 

Mickey leaned back a little so the water didn’t pour down his face, then rubbed the water off his face, then smoothed his hair back. When he could see without the image being blurry, Mickey reached for the door and cracked it open, giving Ian the invitation he’d been waiting for. 

He was feeling so much and not enough at the same time. Everything around him was nothing but danger and confusion, he didn’t know what to do with himself. He did know that he wanted Ian more and more with each passing day and he knew what would happen the moment Ian stepped inside, something they couldn’t take back afterwards. He knew all of that, and let it happen. Ian slowly opened the door the rest of the way and slipped inside, joining him.

Mickey didn’t look at his body, even when he so badly wanted it. He just held his eyes, those intense, loving, kind green eyes with a shadow hidden in the corners. Ian held his as he moved closer, now under the spray directly beside him and didn’t hesitate to take him into his arms. Mickey leaned against him, wanting to feel that embrace more than anything else. He willingly gave himself over, ready to indulge in what they both wanted. 

“Ian…”

Ian shushed him softly as he cupped the side of his face. “It’s okay, I’ve got you. It’s just us.” 

Mickey leaned into his palm, then kissed it before he met Ian’s eyes and slowly slid his hands to Ian’s sides. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

_Cause you are the piece of me I wish I didn't need  
Chasing relentlessly, still fight and I don't know why  
If our love is tragedy, why are you my remedy?  
If our love's insanity, why are you my clarity? ___

__—Clarity  
By: Zedd_ _


End file.
